


The Truth in the Tomes

by codarra



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Library, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Librarian Castiel, Librarian Dean, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Miscommunication, Self-Worth Issues, Waiter Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 21:04:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5220743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codarra/pseuds/codarra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the librarian popped into view, his face finally flickered through some emotions: slight surprise—probably at seeing Dean again—and what Dean desperately hoped wouldn’t turn out to be trepidation.</p><p>“Hey again. Listen, I was wondering—should I call you Sinatra? Or…?” Dean threw in a wink for good measure.</p><p>He heard a snort of laughter come from the open doorway of what looked like a rather messy office.</p><p>The man behind the counter squinted his eyes at Dean while tilting his head. “Is that a flirtation? That is not my name.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truth in the Tomes

**Author's Note:**

> While this isn't my first post on AO3, it is my first _Supernatural_ posting. I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> I dedicate this to [Luna](http://www.lunawho47.tumblr.com), who always helps to inspire me to write, and one of my very best friends, IRL. This was destined to be her birthday fic... _last_ year. Who says fifteen months is too late? 
> 
> By the by, if you're into _Teen Wolf_ , and you enjoy Stiles/Derek as much as I do, be sure to check out my other fics!

“Come on, Sammy!” Dean groaned, threading his fingers behind his head as he balanced his chair on two legs. “I just got fired yesterday; can’t I get a full twenty-four hours before you’re harpin’ on me?”

Sam let out a hefty sigh, closing the book in front of him. “You know Dad only lets you keep the Impala if you ‘contribute to the family.’” An eye roll accompanied the air quotes.

A wry chuckle, followed by, “Right, as though my two other jobs don’t. What he means is I can drive it as long as I’m the _only_ one contributing to the family.”

Sammy grunted at Dean’s dark humour. “I can get a job, Dean,” he said as though by rote. And by then it was a long-heard argument, one that had been shot down countless times before.

“No!” Dean growled out, much louder and with more force than he had meant to use. “No, Sammy. You’re focussing on school and that’s it.”

Dean knew Sammy was going to go out into the world and do big, great things in it, he just knew it. And Dean was going to do absolutely everything in his power to make sure he got there. Three jobs—after dropping out rather than graduating high school—were well within that power.

“C’mon, man. A part-time job on the weekends—” Sam’s argument lacked any heat; he’d made it so many times already.

But he cut himself off, eyes growing wide as saucers, and Dean felt a glimmer of smug hope. Maybe finally his moose of a brother would give up, because he certainly wasn’t going to be the one to back down.

“You do realise you’re currently in a library, yes?”

A voice right beside Dean’s ear made him jump, and the movement caused the chair to overbalance and topple backwards. Dean’s feet caught on one of the legs of the overturned chair, and he pitched forward. He was sure he made a fool of himself as he took a couple of steps that probably looked like some sort of interpretive dance, but he was able to right himself without landing flat on his face. He wasn’t sure which would have been worse as he glanced up at face of the guy who had spoken: eating carpet in front of an incredibly gorgeous guy or making a spectacle so he wouldn’t eat carpet, but still in front of an _incredibly gorgeous guy_.

So he did what he always did—or tried to do, an extremely unhelpful voice echoed. He owned it. Dean gave a mockery of a bow.

“Thank you. I’ll be here through Thursday.”

“The library closes—several times—before this coming Thursday.”

Dean stared at the man before him for any indication that he was joking, but his— _Goddamn, those eyes are_ blue—expression gave nothing away.

“I—we—” Dean trailed off, at a complete loss for words; his equilibrium, both literal and figurative, had been thrown off by this guy.

Sam huffed out a poorly concealed laugh behind him, forcing a glare out of Dean.

“I’m sorry, man. I was just about to leave and let Sam get his nerd self back to his nerd books.”

Again, the librarian, Dean guessed, was neither pleased nor displeased by his statement, as far as he could tell. He simply turned on his heel and walked away. Dean’s shoulders slumped a little before straightening themselves. Dislike and disinterest he could deal with; apathy and indifference were new to him.

Dean grabbed his old flip phone that had definitely seen better days—he was sure any day would be the day the screen finally detached from the keypad—and was about to wave a bye to Sammy when a firm grasp on his wrist stopped him.

“Dean, I swear to god, if you get me kicked out of my favourite library…” Sam threatened at him under his breath.

Rolling his eyes, Dean prised Sam’s fingers from their grip. “Don’t worry, Sammy, I’m sure your sainthood is still intact.”

“For the last time, it’s Sam,” he muttered, flipping his hair out of his eyes.

“You know, I think I have some clippers in the car…”

“Get out of here, Dean!” Sammy growled out behind clenched teeth.

Dean tried his best not to feel too badly or to think that his little brother didn’t want him around, but sometimes it was hard to shake those thoughts. But he’d learned to live with them, especially recently as Sammy approached his sixteenth birthday. He hoped that his gift for the boy would score him some points; he’d been working on it for almost a year.

He passed the circulation desk on his way out and saw a stack of blank applications, with the guy from earlier speaking in hushed tones with another male, shorter and with hair more like Sam’s. Dean only caught a few words as he was walking by, but he thought he got the gist.

They were looking for a new employee. Dean almost laughed at himself, entertaining the thought of being a librarian for half a second. Apparently nobody’d touched the papers sitting on the counter or even seemed remotely interested about applying. It didn’t really surprise him. The library itself, though large and sprawling and filled to the brim with anything one might want in such a place, was situated in a rather sleepy neighbourhood in Sioux Falls. There were a number of other branches in the city that were more bustling and probably more attractive to the sort who might want to work in a building that smelled like books.

Dean pushed open the door that would lead him outside and stopped dead. At eye level was a simple print out. It told readers that the establishment was looking for a new assistant librarian during the day, and that they were hosting same-day interviews.

 _Inquire within_.

The words were staring at him, taunting him. Dean grimaced at his whirling thoughts. He knew the fallout of coming home to his father the day after losing a job without getting another wouldn’t be pretty, to say the least. His dad expected a lot out of him, in terms of paydays. It was the only thing he expected from Dean.

Dean heaved out a sigh, and, squaring his shoulders, marched himself back into the library proper, heading straight for the front desk. The guy from earlier was stood there, helping some folks check out a few books. So Dean put on his best smile, straightened his shirt, which had seen better days, and waited in line.

When the librarian popped into view, his face finally flickered through some emotions: slight surprise—probably at seeing Dean again—and what Dean desperately hoped wouldn’t turn out to be trepidation.

“Hey again. Listen, I was wondering—should I call you Sinatra? Or…?” Dean threw in a wink for good measure.

He heard a snort of laughter come from the open doorway of what looked like a rather messy office.

The man behind the counter squinted his eyes at Dean while tilting his head. “Is that a flirtation? That is not my name.”

Dean blushed furiously at the guy’s blunt attitude—had it been him flirting? Wasn’t he just trying to charm his way into a job?

“I—uh—well. I—what’s your name, then?” He stumbled through the question, fingers fiddling with the edge of an application, folding and unfolding a corner.

“Castiel,” the librarian stated, pointing at a nametag that Dean hadn’t seen earlier, before subtly yet deftly removing the piece of paper from his reach and placing it back on the stack.

Dean’s confidence faltered at the possible meaning behind that action. Perhaps it was just Castiel wanting him to stop fidgeting with an unmarked application, but it could have been a hint that he didn’t want Dean applying.

“Quite a moniker,” he quipped, trying to regain, yet again, his sense of balance. What was it with this guy?

It was Castiel’s turn to flush, though Dean thought it might have been more because of anger than embarrassment.

“If that’s all,” he said, gathering the applications up in his hands and tapping them on the counter to straighten them.

“No, wait! I didn’t mean—I like it! Cas!”

Castiel stopped in the process of placing the papers on the other end of the counter, as far from Dean as possible. Dean heard something drop in the office, a dull clatter that sounded loud in the silence that followed his small outburst.

Dean hoped his desperation stemmed from wanting this job, and only from that, because he couldn’t… He just couldn’t, that was all.

Cas slowly approached Dean again, back rigid. “What did you call me?”

Dean swallowed audibly. “Uh… Cas? Look, man, I’m sorry—”

“No, it’s… It’s fine.”

Shoulders slumping in relief, Dean grinned again. And if he didn’t know any better, he could have sworn that was a small uptick of Cas’ lips. Maybe he’d get to see the man smile after all.

Not that it mattered, of course.

“So I saw that you’re looking for a new assistant.”

Eyes raked over Dean’s disheveled appearance, from the ratty t-shirt to the jeans with possibly more holes than denim to the shoes that basically had his toes peeking up at him. He felt as though his entire life had been weighed, judged and valuated as he stood there.

Whoever said that “appearance isn’t everything” was either deluded or had everything handed to him on a silver platter.

“I—” Cas began, but Dean held up a hand.

“You can stop right there. It’s fine; I understand. Didn’t hurt to try, am I right?”

Shoulders slumping for an entirely different reason, Dean turned away from the counter and headed for the door again. A hand gripped his shoulder tightly, turning him around to face Castiel again.

“I was going to ask you to give me reasons why you think you’re right for the job.”

Embarrassment flooded Dean’s face. “Oh. Well…” He coughed into his hand. “How about my obvious weaknesses first? I’m not a book nerd like Sam, but that’s mainly due to lack of time, not interest. I’m not the brightest bulb, by any standard, but I’m quick and willing to learn what to do. I’m good with people. Oh, and my two biggest strengths: I’m the only schmuck interested so far, and I can start immediately.”

Another laugh came from the office behind the counter, followed by, “You’re hired!”

Castiel froze. Clearly he hadn’t been expecting that. “A moment, if you please,” he stiffly said before turning on his heel—he was good at that—and retreating into the room.

Hushed, arguing voices filtered out the door. It was obvious they were at odds over Dean, and just as he was finished debating with himself over whether to leave—he wasn’t wanted there—Castiel came back out, holding some papers.

“My apologies. Let’s get your paperwork started, shall we?” he asked, a tight smile on his face. His hand grasped Dean’s shoulder in the same place, turning him to face the back of the library. A gentle press, after the hand migrated to the small of his back, had him stepping forward, and he tried—he really, really did—not to think too much of Cas’ current proximity.

Cas—Castiel—guided him through the main rooms of the library, weaving through various bookshelves, tables, lines of computers set up for public use. At one point, they passed the table where Sammy was studying.

“Dean, what—” he began, looking worried and rising from his seat.

An imperceptible shake of Dean’s head, an easily recognised gesture between the two brothers, was all it took to allay Sam’s concerns—at least on the surface, anyway. Dean was sure he’d get yet another earful when Sammy was able to get him alone again. That boy needed to learn not to worry so much. He’d get wrinkles before he was twenty.

Finally, when Dean was wondering if the building wrapped around the world several times, they stopped before a row of self-contained study rooms. He could tell from the outside that they were cramped, even for one person. And by the time Cas had opened the door and allowed Dean inside first, quickly following, he realised just how correct he’d been.

Sat facing each other across the desk somehow shoved into the room, their legs were all up in each other’s business. Their knees knocked and their calves rubbed together trying to reach some semblance of comfort before stilling. Dean hoped that the heat rising within him stayed within him, but he’d always been a full-body flusher, so it was a vain wish.

When he got himself under control, he said, “Look, man, if you don’t want me workin’ here, you just gotta say. It’s not gonna hurt my feelings.”

To be honest, he wasn’t sure if that was true. And added onto that, he wasn’t sure if his feelings would be hurt more because the guy sat before him didn’t want him working there or because he wouldn’t have found a job so easily.

Cas looked up at him with those piercing eyes. “No, please, take no offence. It is not that I do not want you working here. It’s just that…” The librarian sighed. “Change has never before been something for me to easily accept.”

Dean huffed. “Kinda hard to believe that when you gave me the once over complete with stink eye a while back.”

Cas’ eyes widened, and a flush rose in his cheeks. “That—I—well. My apologies again. Let’s just say it had nothing to do with your capabilities toward applying for this job.”

If anything, his blush deepened. Dean was beyond confused but decided to let it lie. The dude was weird, and that was that.

“All right. Let’s get this paperwork done.”

Cas slid over some papers and a pen, and then he just sat there and stared. Dean shifted in his seat but then ignored it. Or at least he thought he could; that gaze was really fucking intense. By the time he’d misspelled his last name for the fourth time, he slammed the pen down on the desk. Cas jumped but didn’t abate in his staring.

“Dude!”

This only made him blink at Dean. “Yes?”

“Well, Cas, not for nothing, but the last person who looked at me like that… I got laid.”

Cas flushed again, and it was his turn to shift in his seat.

A sudden realisation hit Dean. “You were checking me out,” he blurted, and then immediately regretted it.

Cas’ blush spread down his neck. “My apologies. I had not meant to make you uncomfortable. Personal interactions are not my forte.”

Yeah, no kidding.

Dean shifted a little in his seat, moving imperceptibly closer to Cas’ side of the small room. He wasn’t sure if Cas noticed.

“What if I said that it didn’t make me uncomfortable?” he asked, scooting closer.

“I would then suggest that it would be highly inappropriate for us as future colleagues to become involved,” Cas replied stonily.

But then he moved an inch or two toward Dean. So he had noticed. And whoever had decided to install restaurant-style booth seats in these study rooms was a godsend.

“So… What you’re saying is that we should get it out of our systems before we’re officially coworkers.”

Dean closed the space between them, their legs and shoulders touching. Their eyes locked. It seemed to take a moment for Cas to catch onto what he was saying.

“I—yes—I could be saying—mmpf!” was all he got out before Dean sealed his lips over Cas’.

The slide of their lips was the best feeling in the world—something Dean had denied himself for an incredibly long time, for what he had felt were valid reasons. But that kiss flooded his bones with heat and lit his blood on fire.

He hadn’t felt anything like this…ever. This singular kiss threatened to break down all of the walls he’d built up over the years. The devotion and hunger that Cas poured into the kiss, in the way he devoured his mouth while tenderly cupping his face with his hands… It was overwhelming.

Dean found himself crawling onto Castiel’s lap, sliding his mouth along the other man’s jaw. He ground down, and they both groaned at the sensation of their cocks rubbing together.

“Oh, god… I can’t believe how much I want you, Cas!” His voice rose and cut off in a gasp as the dark-haired librarian bit down lightly on Dean’s neck before soothing it with his tongue.

“I have never experienced sensations like this before either,” Cas muttered, nibbling his way back up to Dean’s mouth and capturing it in a searing kiss.

Dean reached for his back pocket. “I think—I may have—”

“Dean, what—oh, my god!”

Sammy’s voice rang in Dean’s ears. Dean froze, one hand on Cas’ zipper, the other behind him. Castiel did the same, his hand underneath Dean’s shirt, thumb covering his peaking nipple.

“Oh, god,” Dean whispered against Cas’ lips.

He untangled himself from Cas’ limbs, climbing down from straddling the man’s legs. His chest felt oddly cold from the absence of Cas’ hand when he slowly retracted his arm from beneath Dean’s tee. He had to bite back a noise at the loss of contact.

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean said, turning around to face his brother who was beet red in the face and not making eye contact.

“Uh, Dean… Your jeans—they—”

“What?” Looking down, Dean uttered an oath. They were unbuttoned and the fly was open! He hadn’t even noticed Cas going for the family jewels. Sneaky bastard—he’d have to watch out for that…

Not that anything like this would ever be happening again. And if that didn’t make a man want to weep, he didn’t know what did.

Zipping up his jeans, Dean glanced back at Cas. “So I’ll be seeing you tomorrow then?”

“I—uh—you—yes. 8 am.” Cas looked like he’d been hit by a freight train, and Dean was a little smugly satisfied that he was a participant in making that happen.

He bit back a smile, straightened his shirt and pushed his baby brother from the doorway to the small study room, closing it behind him.

“What the hell were you doing, Dean?” Sam launched right into his lecture, and Dean was slightly surprised. He was using a form of his bitch face that he hadn’t seen before.

“Can it, Sam. I really don’t want to talk about it.” Dean started forward, but Sam’s long legs caught up to him quickly.

“Well, that’s too bad. Instead of looking for a job, you decided to fool around in a library with the librarian!” Sammy sure knew how to turn a whisper into a scathing shout. “Not only do I need bleach for my eyes, I’ll never be able to check out a book here again!”

Dean didn’t know whether to feel angry, bitter, or saddened by his brother’s accusation. He decided on some combination of all three.

“You know what? That was me in there getting a job!”

Sam’s jaw dropped, and his eyes grew wide. “I can’t believe… You got it because he wanted to sleep with you?”

Dean was fairly certain a few of the library’s patrons were rubbernecking after that. He was sure the entire world had heard what Sam said.

“No, man! That was—we were—fuck. Just…drop it, Sammy. Go back to your books. We’ll talk about this later.” Dean shoved his hand in his pocket and grabbed his phone. “I have to take care of some things.”

As he shot off a text to Pam telling her it was her lucky day, Sam’s words kept eating at him. He’d been down that road before, but this time was different.

Right?

Dean’s phone buzzed in the seat next to him as he put the Impala in park in his driveway. He laughed aloud when it saw who was calling.

“Hey, Pam. Figured I’d be hearing from you soon.”

“Give it to me straight, hot stuff. You aren’t pulling my leg for a laugh, are you?”

“Would I do that?” Dean grinned into the phone, knowing the look that she was probably giving him from across the city. “But you’d better get off the phone and rested up ‘cause your first day shift starts tomorrow.”

“Babycakes, you’re a life saver!” Pam’s crackled groan came over the phone.

“Somethin’ wrong? I kinda expected you to be rushing over here to kiss the ground I walk on,” Dean said, half laughing, half frowning.

“I have a shift tonight, and you work morning to afternoon, didn’t you?”

Dean chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ve got ya covered. I’ll call Bill soon and tell him we’ve switched, including tonight.”

“Are you sure? Dean, you’d really be helpin’ a girl out in a tight spot, but I know you’re already swamped with work—”

“Ain’t no sweat, Pam. Honest. I’ll take a nap and be rarin’ to go,” he said, though he wasn’t sure it would be happening like that. He still had to talk to John…

“I owe you, sugar. I really do. But I gotta go; gonna tell Tim the good news!” And just like that, the line went dead. A hazard of talking with her was sudden disappearances.

She and Tim were newlyweds, but Tim had a great job during the day, while Pam had been stuck in the overnight shift at the diner for a while. That was how they had met—Tim had come in for a late dinner and Pam’s over-the-top flirting had hooked him right in. The surprising part had been her falling just as hard; she’d never been one for long-term relationships before.

Pam had come to Dean, asking if he’d be interested in a switch, but at the time his three jobs hadn’t been very accommodating. But now it was more than ideal, even though his last night job hadn’t exactly been overnight.

It would take some getting used to, but he’d do it. He had to.

******* 

Dean unclenched the fists he hadn’t known he’d been making before opening the door to the small house on wheels the Winchester men called home. And there sat their father, stagnant as always on the recliner, sat before the TV, surrounded nearly on all sides by cans of beer.

His hands fisted again when he thought about how he was the one who had to provide the money for that beer. Then misery flooded his veins when he realised that, essentially, he was responsible for all their problems, since he was enabling John to continue drinking and faffing about.

But what other choice did he have? John would abandon them at best and become hostile (more than usual anyway) at worst. And Dean couldn’t risk their dad leaving Sammy behind, or--whatever deities there were, forbid this--take him away from Dean. Sam looked up to John, as any son should. Dean had been able to hide the majority of John’s shortcomings, and their father made things easier by acting like a saint when it came to his youngest boy.

“Hey, Dad,” Dean said, pocketing his keys. He got a grunt in reply. Hopefully that meant he was in a cheerful mood.

“I need to talk to you about something, uh, sir,” Dean said, taking one of the camping chairs near the recliner. The Winchester household didn’t have much stock in furniture.

“What has my wonderful eldest son done now?” John rumbled, voice dripping with venom and sarcasm.

Good news or bad news first? Dean asked himself. Bad news, he decided, like ripping a plaster off.

“I lost my job, but--”

John immediately went red in the face and stood up to his full height, towering over the seated Dean.

“What did you say, boy?” Instead of giving him a chance to answer, John hoisted him by the scruff of his tee and shoved him toward the door. “Then what the hell are you doing here? There’s no way I’m letting you just sit around while I do everything for this family! Get your lazy, stupid ass out there and get a new one!”

By the time the door slammed in Dean’s face, he was shaking. From fright or anger, he didn’t know; he just knew he had to get out of there. He sent a text to Charlie, asking her to get Sammy to hang out with her tonight, keep him away from the house. Relief sagged through him when she said it wouldn’t be a problem--she needed help with her college calculus course anyway. He knew she’d understand.

Dean gunned the Impala’s engine and made his way to Bobby’s, grateful that he always kept spare clothes there, including what he’d need to wear to the diner tonight. Maybe he could grab some shut-eye before his shift.

“Bobby?” Dean called, feeling only slightly guilty when he hoped that there’d be no response.

Grinning to himself at the silence that answered him, he saw that the couch was free and fell on it face first. Then promptly fell off it when the back door crashed open.

“What’re you layin’ about for, ya idjit? You’re here, we’ve got work to do,” Bobby grumbled at him, grease stained fists on his hips. “C’mon, get up!”

“All right, all right,” he said, gesturing away Bobby’s hand to help him to his feet. “Let’s get to it.”

Dean might’ve been seeing things, but he swore he saw the man’s frown deepen as he headed back outside toward the salvage yard and garage.

*******

“How’s it goin’, brother?” A voice sounded in Dean’s ear as an arm rested on his shoulders.

“Hey, Benny. Fancy seeing you here so late,” he joked back, voice tired.

“You all right, there?” Benny asked, drawing back to look at him. “You look like you’ve been through the wringer.”

“I’m fine, man,” Dean answered, closing the door to the little closet they used to hang coats and personal effects. “What’s with you and Bobby actin’ all weird?”

He laughed as he exited the kitchen, leaving behind a nonplussed cook. Red hair glinted in the fluorescent lighting of the diner’s main room, and Dean’s laugh changed into something more genuine.

“Charlie!”

“Well, look what the werewolf hunter dragged in!” The part-time waitress finished taking a family’s order and turned around to give him a hug. At Dean’s completely confused face, she wilted a little. “Just thought I’d put my own quirky style on the phrase…”

Dean shook his head, reluctantly amused. “Maybe find a different catchphrase? You’ll get it some day.”

Charlie turned in the order, handing it to Benny through a serving window. “So are you just picking up a shift? I never see you here this late, muchacho.”

“Nah, I’ve gone to nights now. The bar let me go,” Dean said, fiddling with some nearby condiment bottles, nearly empty.

"That bites, man."

"It is what it is. Say, you want me to clock on early and help with the closing crap?"

"Dean..." came a warning growl from the kitchen.

Charlie's eyes would have twinkled, if eyes could do that, Dean swore. "It wouldn't be breaking our bro code to take advantage of that offer, would it?"

Dean rolled his eyes and jumped off the stool he'd been perching on, heading into the kitchen to punch his time card.

"Brother, your shift doesn't start for another half an hour," Benny drawled from the stove.

"Oh, can it, would ya? Teddy bears aren't known for their growls." Dean tied on his apron he fetched from the hook near the punch clock, grinning at the southern man. “You think it’s wrong of me to help out a friend and make a little extra dough in the meantime?”

Benny turned from where he’d been stirring something on that great stove of his, sauce dripping from a large spoon. “I think it’s wrong a’me to not whack you upside the head with this ladle.”

Dean chuckled loudly, clutching at his side as though laughter had given him a stitch—but it was mainly to cover the lightheadedness that had just overcome him, tunneling his vision to pinpoints. He must’ve gotten up from the stool too quickly; he remembered Sammy talking about it when his varied interests had lit upon medicine one day. Ortho-something tension pressure… Or something.

What stood more out in his mind, though, was one of the causes: exhaustion. But who wasn’t a little tired every now and then?

Dean gave Benny another smile, mentally shaking it off, as the man looked at him with a deep frown on his face.

“Cheer up, buttercup. At least it ain’t rainin’,” he said as he walked by, clapping the guy on the shoulder. Dean laughed again as Benny muttered under his breath at him.

Dean worked on refilling the containers on each table with creamer, sugar packets, sweeteners, jellies, and other things, and Charlie kept taking orders and serving customers. By the time Dean picked up the broom to sweep up vacated sections of the floor, he’d seen the redhead check her watch at least four times.

“Got somewhere to be, my queen?” Dean needled her extracurricular activities all the time; he couldn’t resist a jab now, even if he secretly thought it looked like it might be fun to get out there and thump on people with padded swords and fake shields.

“Well, since you asked so nicely, handmaiden, the queen has a lady friend waiting for her, ready to be swept off her feet,” she said with a small blush, brushing passed him to turn in another order.

“Far be it from me to stand in the way of the affairs of the heart,” he replied with a mock bow, gesturing toward the kitchen door with his broom.

“Uh, you lost me.” Charlie was looking down at him quizzically.

Dean rolled his eyes. “I mean, you can get outta here if you want. I’ll cover for you.”

Charlie’s eyes lit up and she nearly squealed with delight, bouncing on her toes. “Do you mean it? Oh my gosh, Dean Winchester, has anyone ever told you you’re a godsend? Because you are, and they need to. What would I do without you?”

Dean smiled at Charlie’s slight hesitation that turned into her basically ripping off her apron and making a beeline for the kitchen.

“Without me? I’m sure your queendom would perish, and your commoners wouldn’t have anything pretty to look at.”

Charlie’s voice called from the backroom. “Oh, please. You know you’re my bitch; you’d never leave me.”

A couple walked into the diner, a small chime signaling their entrance, and as Dean told them to take a seat anywhere they’d like, he heard Benny calling his name from his place in the back.

“What’s up?” Dean popped his head inside the kitchen, taking a whiff of whatever Benny was cooking—it smelled delicious.

“C’mere,” Benny said without turning around.

Thwap! Dean’s scalp was on fire as the cook stepped back to his stove.

“What the hell, man?” he said, rubbing furiously where Benny had hit him with a wooden spoon.

“You had it comin’, brother.”

“What for?”

“For bein’ a damn fool. Charlie didn’t need to get outta here for another hour.” Benny’s voice was completely even for a man who had just gone on the offensive. “You’ve worked evenings before; you know we almost always get a late night rush.”

“I can handle it, Benny. Trust me.”

“I’ll trust that you’re gonna get your ass handed to ya, kid.”

Dean just laughed as he walked out to the customers, carrying a tray of food.

******* 

Dean hated when Benny was right. And good god, had he been right.

He swore under his breath as he stared at the seeming ocean of customers that occupied the diner. It was like a lunch rush! Where the hell had they come from? If Dean believed in conspiracies, he’d think they’d all done it on purpose, knowing he was alone.

It was all he could do not to drown in drinks, entrees, and desserts while juggling trying to catch up on finishing the nightly chores. Eventually he gave up, refraining from slamming a box of sweetener packets on the counter as an uppity customer waved his nearly empty glass in the air, rattling the ice around inside to signal he wanted a refill. Dean figured he’d need a new set of teeth by the end of the night, grinding them as he went to fulfill the customer’s every wish.

Benny gave him a look when Dean stopped in to take a moment to catch his bearings.

“You flap those lips and I swear to god I’ll shove that spoon so far up your ass you’ll be eating it for breakfast.”

Some eternity later, there was finally a lull in customers, down to just a table or two per hour. Dean was able to get back to evening out ketchup bottles.

Benny leaned out the order window, and Dean smirked up at him from his place on a stool at the counter. “Livin’ the high life, ain’t I?”

“You and me both, brother.” The man huffed out a breath. “Can I bring something up without the ol’ Winchester wrath flarin’ up?”

Dean glanced back at Benny, balancing one bottle on top of another. “You got somethin’ to say, spit it out.”

“You said Bobby and me were actin’ weird.”

“He kept shakin’ his head at me whenever he thought I wasn’t looking. It was weird, man,” Dean had said, squirting ketchup from one bottle into another to make them evenly balanced.

Benny shocked him with his reply. “Sometimes I wonder if you don’t have nothin’ but corn for brains, Winchester. I know you got this thing for helpin’ people, and not accepting help for yourself, but sometimes the people around you just wanna give you a whoopin’ for carryin’ on like nothin’ affects you.”

Dean just frowned at him, completely lost as to what that had anything to do with Bobby’s behaviour.

“If he’s anything like you’ve talked about before, brother, it sounds like he was tryin’ to get you to admit you needed sleep. Cos he knew if he told you to get some, you’d mouth off sayin’ you were fine,” Benny said, before walking away to get started on a regular’s order he knew never changed.

Which… That couldn’t be right, could it? Bobby was a direct, to-the-point guy. If he wanted to say something, he’d say it, no problem. He wouldn’t treat Dean like he was some delicate flower, would he?

“Nah,” Dean said, finishing up with the condiments and bustling about replacing them on the tables.

There was another blip toward the wee hours of the morning, when those whose days started while the rest of the town was still fast asleep came in to get their breakfast and their coffee. Other than that, Dean’s night was spent twiddling his thumbs.

Some might have found that to be relaxing, time spent doing nothing at all, but Dean could easily see himself slowly losing his mind in the ceaseless nights, even with Benny for company.

As the hours dragged on, Dean began to flag. He didn’t think downing an entire pot of coffee could help at this point, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try it. Of course, he failed to account for the scorching he gave his throat, but hey, just another thing to keep him awake, right?

Luckily, his shift was nearing an end; the last hour was within reach, and customers started to pile in the diner in trickles.

The little bell on the door chimed, announcing the entrance of another patron while Dean was preparing a tray of dishes for another table.

“Sit anywhere you’d like; I’ll be right with you,” he said, trying to make sure a bowl of oatmeal didn’t teeter off the edge. There was a vague reply, but he was already making his way toward the hungry customers.

Having successfully delivered enough food to nourish a small country, Dean weaved his way through the sea of tables to where the newest guy was sat at the front counter. He had a love/hate relationship with people who sat there. Taking orders and retrieving food for them was made incredibly easy, but they also wanted someone to talk to, and Dean had had enough of being an impromptu therapist during his time as a bartender. Sure, hearing their stories was sometimes cool, but on the other hand… They were telling him their _lives’ stories_.

“All right, what can I get started for you?” Dean asked, clicking his pen on his order pad. He looked up to see wide blue eyes staring at him, the barest hint of surprise etched onto the man’s face. “Oh, hey, man! I didn’t know you came here.”

“Yes,” Castiel said shortly, flipping open the newspaper and beginning to read its contents.

Dean blinked at the abrupt brush-off. “So… What can I get for you?”

Castiel just pushed the upturned coffee cup closer to Dean and raised the newspaper until only his eyes were visible. The waiter frowned and reached behind him for the carafe full of caffeine.

“You come to this crappy diner for its crappy coffee?”

“Yes.” The newspaper now covered Cas’ entire face.

Dean was never one not to take a hint. He filled the librarian’s cup and walked away, trying to ignore how much the sting of whatever had just happened hurt. It didn’t matter anyway.

He distracted himself by helping out other customers and tidying up the workstation until Pam showed up in his last half hour. The way it stood now he’d have just enough time to change in the back and hightail it over to the library clear across town.

“Whoa,” Pam said as she came out of the kitchen tying her apron. “Who sat here?” She held up a twenty-dollar bill from the counter where Castiel had sat.

Dean frowned again. “Just some weird dude,” he said, pocketing the change with every intention of giving it back to the guy—he was sure it was a mistake, especially with the way the other man had acted today.

He said his goodbyes to Pam and the other day waitress who showed up late, and to Benny who was hopping into his truck to head home. The cook looked like he had something to say, so Dean just nodded and jumped into the Impala, gunning it out of the back lot of the diner.

The waiter-cum-mechanic and now assistant librarian nearly wept as he got out of his car and made his way toward the library. His feet were killing him. And now he had to go and stare at books all day long. Not that he had anything against reading; he just never had the time. His Vonnegut collection, sparse as it was, was packed away in a box under his bed gathering dust to make room for Sammy’s ever-growing pool of texts and leisure books.

Heaving a sigh that came from his bones, Dean threw open the library doors. Castiel was at the front desk, booting up the computers, and he cast Dean a look with the barest hint of surprise.

“What, thought I wouldn’t make it?” Dean shot a grin at the older man.

“I presumed you might be otherwise occupied,” Cas said, turning his back on Dean.

“I was just helping out a friend.” That was more or less true. “But I don’t break promises, man.”

He wasn’t sure why he was being defensive about the situation, or why he didn’t just come out and say he had another job on top of this one, but he felt like he needed to say something. Maybe he just didn’t want Cas to turn out like all the others who looked at him with pity and false sympathy.

_Poor Dean with three jobs, a drunkard father, and a baby brother. Poor Dean who can’t grab a beer after work cos he has to get across town to make money cos Sammy needs new jeans._

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Cas said, brushing past Dean to get around the counter.

Apparently he took Dean’s suggestion to heart from yesterday. He got any possible feelings out of his system and now he’s all business. Dean was nothing but another coworker to him, and anything else must have been the furthest things from his mind.

 _Chin up_ , he thought to himself sarcastically. _Not like you could have expected anything more. Not with…_

He didn’t finish the thought. Instead he followed _Castiel_ around the counter and got to work.

Over the course of several hours, Castiel taught him the ins and outs of an assistant librarian’s life. Dean learned how to check books out to patrons, how to look up a patron’s info, how to start a new account… There were so many How Tos in his head, floating around with different computer codes, that he thought instead of looking up the latest young adult novel, he’d accidentally launch a nuclear missile to the moon.

There was a steady flow of patrons, and their various requests always interrupted his training, but they gave him a few moments of rest while he followed Castiel around as he did what needed doing.

Eventually another co-worker arrived, with the library’s single reference librarian having already arrived before Dean got there. The man turned out to be the same one Castiel had argued with over Dean’s employment, the branch manager, _and_ Castiel’s brother—Gabriel.

“Bible thumpin’ family?” Dean didn’t think about how that might not be workplace appropriate—or appropriate for any situation, really—until the words were already out of his mouth.

“You have _no_ idea,” the shorter man said, taking out a sucker, unwrapping it and popping it in his mouth. “You gotta meet the family some time, Dean-o.”

Apparently “appropriate” had no place in Gabriel’s vernacular.

“I hardly think that will be necessary,” Castiel said, further cementing the idea in Dean’s head that the man wanted nothing more to do with him than be his colleague. “Watch the front desk; I need to show Dean something.”

With that, he grabbed Dean’s elbow and all but yanked him along, heading for the back of the library.

“I’m sure you do, Cassie. I’m sure you do,” Gabriel called before they were lost in the rows of books.

“What the hell, dude?” Dean said, rubbing at his arm when Castiel finally let go. They were all the way in the back of the building, and it was almost oppressively quiet. “General reference—yeah, you showed me this earlier. I don’t get why you dragged—”

Dean was shoved against the back wall, hands held at the wrist above his head, Castiel’s lean body pressed up against his.

“I can’t get you out of my head,” he breathed into Dean’s ear.

A shiver ripped its way down his spine.

Breath misted across Dean’s neck as Cas spoke. “I’ve never felt this way before, for _anyone_. And then you come along with your gorgeous eyes…”

Dean closed his eyes and tensed.

“Your pretty face… Your ass…”

He felt as though this should all be filed under bad touch, and even though he knew what was coming next, what Castiel would say next—he’s heard it too many times before—he couldn’t help but _crave_ the touch, the attention the man was giving him. What the fuck did that say about him?

Dean bit back a moan as he felt Cas’ cock nestled against his ass.

_Here it comes… It almost always starts with my…_

“Your goddamn perfect lips…”

It never failed. He was always reduced to something physical. When Dean had first discovered sexuality at all, that hadn’t been an issue. But then when relationship after relationship failed because it was based on nothing more than an initial spark… It got him wondering if he was nothing more than a pretty face, and inevitably even the wondering dropped away.

Cas pressed himself even closer to Dean’s form, tightening his grip on Dean’s wrists to just shy of painful. He was about to wrench himself away from the man and get the hell out of there—he didn’t want to go down that road again—when Cas said something that shocked him to the core. Something he’d never heard before.

“And then… _and then_ you have to charming, and witty, and so fucking intelligent… I want you, Dean Winchester, like nothing I’ve ever wanted.”

Dean twisted until he was facing Cas, their faces scant inches apart, breathing the same air, eyes locked on the other’s.

“You’re like this perfect storm. Breathtakingly, stunningly beautiful, yet completely capable of lethality. I don’t know how to escape you…”

“Do you…” Dean gulped. His heart was beating so hard in his chest he was afraid Gabriel could hear it from the front desk. A small part of him wanted to make a cheeky comment about how that was the sappiest piece of crap he’d ever heard, but the large majority wanted to…he didn’t know what…weep? at how the words made him feel.

“Do you want to?”

Cas slowly blinked at him, crystalline blue eyes traversing back and forth between Dean’s. “What?”

“Do you want to…escape me?” He couldn’t help but give the guy an out. Surely he couldn’t have meant what he said. Surely it was just a line. A line that sounded like pure poetry spun on golden ink.

_Crap, it’s like it infected me._

Cas’ answer only took seconds, but it was like an eternity held its breath as Dean waited.

“No.”

Dean hesitated only a moment more before he crashed their lips together, teeth clacking in a frenzied kiss. He forcibly reversed their positions, capturing the small gasp that escaped Cas’ lips with his own. His hands, finally free from the man’s grasp, reached for Castiel’s backwards tie and loosened it, moving on quickly to the buttons that separated him from the warmth of skin behind them. His mouth dragged along Cas’ jaw, teeth scraping the line of his jugular vein, clamping down lightly and sucking until Cas rolled his body against Dean’s.

His lips found Cas’ again as his hands found the buckle on the man’s belt, undoing it swiftly. Dean licked into the librarian’s mouth, chasing after the taste that had to be pure sin.

Pulling back slowly, peppering Cas’ lips with small kisses, reluctant to move away, he said, “Can you be quiet?”

Castiel’s eyes fluttered open, pupils blown wide. They focussed on Dean, the lips below them raw and bitten red. “…what?”

Dean passed his thumb over Cas’ lower lip, eyes locking on to how his teeth grazed the skin, his tongue darting out to taste it. “Can you…be quiet?”

He emphasized his words by pressing his fingers into Cas’ neck. The man’s eyes closed in response. Apparently his neck was a sensitive area. Dean could work with that.

Cas nodded, head lolling back to rest on the wall and exposing a delicious expanse of skin that there wasn’t any way Dean could resist tasting it. He was careful not to leave any semi-permanent marks, but the idea of maybe sometime giving Cas one that would leave no question as to whose he was…

Dean had to take a moment to compose himself.

He pushed Cas’ shirt until it was hanging off his shoulders, ran his hands over the flushed, pale skin that was exposed. He made quick work of the button and zipper on Cas’ pants while his mouth paid extra attention to the man’s nipples, grinning at the way it made his back arch off the wall.

Dean mouthed at the head of Cas’ cock through the fabric of his boxers. A moan sounded from the man above him, and Dean made a warning sound as he pulled back. Cas’ hips tried to follow. Dean reached above him with one hand and his fingers found their way into Cas’ mouth, who instantly quieted. The other arm pushed the man back against the wall. He was the one in control right now, and he revelled in the power it gave him.

He was about to make Cas come undone.

Dean fished Cas’ cock out through the gap in his boxers, licked the drop away at the head as it popped free. Cas jumped as Dean’s tongue flattened along the bottom of the glans, but Dean’s arm across his hips wouldn’t let him move much. Dean didn’t give him any leniency, dragging his tongue from base to tip and getting it nice and wet before engulfing it in his mouth.

Castiel’s gasp was muffled by Dean’s fingers. Dean hummed, pleased, with Cas’ dick between his lips. He began a smooth, swift bobbing, alternating swirling his tongue around the head and using his hand to pump when he didn’t have his nose in the other man’s dark hair at the base.

Dean pulled back and sucked one of Cas’ balls into his mouth, laving it with his tongue. Cas squirmed above him. Dean switched hands, placing his other fingers in the man’s mouth and reaching behind Cas to run the wet fingers around his hole.

He swallowed down Cas’ dick just as his hips came off the wall at Dean’s gentle probes. He took a moment to place Cas’ hands on top of his head—they’d been alternating between fists and claws against the wall behind him—and grinned as the man got the hint and fisted his hands in Dean’s hair and started to pump his dick in and out of Dean’s mouth.

Dean let a small groan leave his throat as the head of Cas’ cock moved in his mouth. Dean’s fingers traced around Cas’ hole, gently pressing in until they met resistance. Cas’ movements stuttered, his fists tightening in Dean’s hair.

Dean popped off his dick and started pumping. He wanted to see the moment Cas started to come. He slipped his fingers out of Cas’ mouth and moved them to cover it instead. He had a feeling that the man might not be quiet.

Cas’ breathing quickened, and his hips started to buck seemingly of their own accord. A look of pure bliss came over the man’s face, scrunched in that moment of time that was pleasure coming from everywhere at once.

Dean quickly moved his mouth back over the head of Cas’ cock just as spurts of come started shooting. He swallowed it all down, letting his free hand rove over the man’s skin, grazing his nipples.

Eventually Cas came down from his high and whined from behind Dean’s hand—he’d become sensitive. Dean gently moved back and placed Cas’ cock back in his boxers. He pulled the man’s pants back up as he stood.

He leaned forward for a kiss but stopped just before he reached Cas’ lips—most men he’d met didn’t like to kiss after the fact. But Cas surprised him by capturing his mouth, delving after his own taste with his tongue. Dean let another groan escape as Cas cupped his raging erection.

“I would do something to return the favour…” he said, pulling back.

“But we’ve been gone too long. Don’t worry, man. I still had fun.” Dean smiled and kissed him one last time, savouring the feeling of his lips against Cas’. “I’ll go back first and let you get…situated.”

Dean gazed over the other man, thinking that it might take a miracle for him to get composed. He looked incredibly fucked out. He didn’t envy him, and in the back of his mind, he hoped Cas didn’t resent him for doing that at work.

He smoothed out his pants and headed for the front of the library.

Gabriel was sat at the front desk, flipping through some magazine or another. He grinned lopsidedly without looking up. “Have fun?”

“Oh yeah. Learning about what types of reference materials we have is the absolute best.”

“I’m sure it is, Dean-o. I’m sure it is.” Gabriel popped a Tootsie roll into his mouth. “Want one?”

If anything, it would cover the taste and smell of Cas in his mouth. He nodded, then jumped slightly as a voice spoke behind him.

“Hello, boys.”

“Mr Crowley, how wonderful to see you again,” Gabriel said with a bright smile, unwrapping another roll. “I’ll leave you with Dean here. He’s our new assistant.”

“Oh, fresh meat—what a delight!”

Coming from that British accent, it didn’t sound too appealing. Dean bristled at the implications of this Crowley’s words, but swallowed it down. He’d said he’s a people person, after all. Time to live up to that.

“What can I do to help, Mr Crowley?”

“Eager, are we? So refreshing.” The Englishman handed him a list of titles, then turned on his heel. “I’ll be in the café.”

Dean ground his teeth— _Dentures by the time I’m thirty, I swear_ —but dutifully went about finding all the books the man wanted, all while retaining the list in his hand without ripping it to shreds like he actually wanted to do. Even when he carted the stack into the café, already checked out under the man’s name—being proactive was good, right?—and Crowley said he’d changed his mind and handed him a different, longer list, Dean kept his trap shut.

“Oh, and Dean? I’m not in a particularly Austen-esque mood anymore. Find me something deeper, yeah? Descartes, maybe…”

Dean was screwed. He knew next to nothing about French philosophy, having dropped out of high school to get odd jobs here and there to support his family. By the time he’d stopped going, they hadn’t gotten around to discussing becoming something by just thinking about it.

So he checked all the books back in, ignored the curious look Cas gave him as he walked by the front desk, and flew through the library with his cart, tumbling the books from the shelves onto the cart.

Following his gut, Dean decided not to pre-emptively check this set of books out because he had a feeling—

Crowley handed him a third list. Dean saw red.

“You know what, guy? You can just take your lists and shove—”

“Mr Crowley!” Castiel materialised from out of nowhere beside him. “I didn’t know you were here! I hope Dean has been treating you well,” he said, giving the assistant the side-eye.

“Of course. Dean’s been an absolute Boy Scout. I’m sure he’s tired of me bothering him, so I think I’ll just carry on then.”

“Thank you for stopping by, Mr Crowley.” Castiel gave a sort of bow and gestured to the door behind him. “Stop back anytime.”

When the Brit finally left the café, while a littered table and a cart of books remained behind, Castiel swept Dean from the coffee shop with a hand placed on his lower back, leading him toward the front desk of the library.

“Do you know who that was?” he hissed in a tight voice.

Dean took a deep breath to settle his irritation—he wouldn’t call it anger; he wasn’t that petty, though he thought that if anyone could turn him that way, it would be Crowley. “Gabe said his name was Crowley.”

“And that’s all you know?” Castiel asked. It must’ve been a rhetorical question, because he didn’t wait for an answer. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he continued, “That’s Crowley, a _Friend_ of the Library.”

The way Castiel spoke, it brooked no argument that the emphasis and Capital F were front and centre. So. This Crowley was an Important Person to the library, and he had everybody around here kowtowing to him. Now Dean was wondering if this was just strike one against him or if it was more of a fatal blow against his possibly soon-to-be-terminated librarian career.

“So, uh—am I out of here then?” He would deny unto his dying breath that his voice was wavering.

He really didn’t want to lose this job, especially after the first day. Well, for that reason and some others, he thought to himself, glancing uneasily at Castiel.

“What?” The librarian looked at him sharply, but then his features softened—marginally anyway. A feat for the other man, really. “Of course not, Dean. You didn’t know, and he was probably pulling at your leg chains given he’d never seen you before.”

Dean stifled a laugh. “Uh, it’s ‘yankin’ my chain,’ or ‘pullin’ my leg,’ I think.”

The tips of Cas’ ears turned pink. “Of course it is.” He straightened his tie unnecessarily. “I have some paperwork I need to finish in the office, if you feel you’re comfortable working up here alone.”

Dean didn’t really, but he didn’t feel comfortable saying, so he kept his trap shut. He figured nearly getting fired once was enough for one day.

When Dean just nodded, Castiel’s face settled into something more determined before he turned away. He paused at the end of the front desk, barely turning his head over his shoulder. “Oh, and Dean? Come see me before you leave at the end of the day.”

With that, he sauntered off, and Dean resolutely did _not_ stare at his ass. He did not.

(Alright. Fine. Maybe he did. So what? It wasn’t hurting anybody.) 

******* 

Who knew working in a goddamn library could be so stressful? Request after request. Question after question. It never ended. And the mothertrucking phone. He’d have nightmares about a gigantic handset clanging its head off at him, Dean was certain.

That was, of course, assuming he’d get any sleep soon. He was due at the diner in just a few hours. But now was the time he’d been dreading. He was sure that Cas wasn’t about to fire him; why make him work the entire shift only to let him go? Free labour? He didn’t think Cas was like that at least.

But then what was making him hesitate before knocking on the door to the man’s office? Dean tried to tell himself that he was just taking a breather after a tough day, grateful once he was able to lock those damned doors. They were revolving doors of idiocy. Dean knew he wasn’t the smartest cookie of the pack, but holy crap—was this town really a hodgepodge of morons or what?

He took a deep breath and rapped on the door. After a brief pause, Cas summoned him inside with a quick word. When he was inside the only slightly cramped office, the other man told him to shut the door behind him. As soon as he did so, he was shoved against it, and Cas’ lips were mashed against his. Dean’s hand grasped at Cas’ tie like a lifeline, completely thrown off kilter by this surprise attack. A tongue scorched through his mouth roughly, and a hand was reviving his cock back to life, groping it through his trousers.

Between one startled blink and the next, just as Dean was about to get into the kiss and start really returning the favour, Cas was on his knees, fishing out Dean’s already half-hard dick and enveloping it into his mouth. He couldn’t help the low groan that escaped his lips. He bit down on his fingers, trying to keep it down. Some part of his brain remembered that Gabe’s office was just next door.

In between moments that felt all too quick yet like multiple eternities, one of the best orgasms of Dean’s life ripped through his body. Whatever inexperience Cas might have (which might have been none; he was clearly quite skilled), he made up for with exuberance and enthusiasm. It was this—the realisation that Cas wanted to do this, and he was liking it, really getting into it, if the tent in his own trousers meant anything—that got him off so quickly, spilling into the man’s mouth without so much of a warning other than a muffled grunt behind his fist. But Cas took it all, not leaving behind a drop, and he licked his lips as Dean fell from them with a wet pop.

“Oh, god, Cas…” Dean’s eyes were heavy-lidded, glazed over as he recovered. When he finally had, he dragged Cas up by his tie and kissed him senseless—or tried to anyway. The other man quickly pulled back.

“I haven’t…” He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

Dean growled and pulled him back in, not caring that he tasted himself in Cas’ mouth. He didn’t care at all. It made it even better, honestly. He reached for Cas’ zipper as he lost himself in the feel of his lips against the librarians. Dean was confused when Cas pulled back from his kiss and grabbed his wrist, keeping his hand where it was, poised above his open zipper.

“I think it’s about time we let you go for the day.” Cas’ voice was like silk dragged along gravel—smooth and rough all at the same time. It _did_ things to Dean. Things to which he would never admit.

Never.

He would also deny how Cas’ words affected him. Almost immediately, his mood dropped at the thought of Cas wanting him out of sight. He even recognised that it was the right thing to do. Dean still had to get all away across town to make it home and change for the diner. Who knows what kind of mood his dad was in, much less how said mood would add time to his getting out of there.

So Dean just swallowed and nodded, retracting his hand and smoothing invisible wrinkles from the only dress shirt he owned. He was going to have to visit the thrift stores if he had any hopes of not repeating outfits every day.

“Well, I guess I’ll see ya Monday, Cas.” Dean was exceedingly grateful that it was the weekend, and he wouldn’t have to work one until next week. Therefore he had two days to get over this maddening crush on the man he worked with. He just hoped it would be enough.

“Dean, are you forgetting something?”

At the door, Dean turned, confused, and saw Cas walking toward him with a small smile before the other man pulled him for another lasting, searing kiss.

Drawing back only slight, he spoke against Dean’s lips. “I look forward to working with you next week, Dean.”

Knees nearly buckling, it was all Dean could do to lick his lips—a movement that Cas tracked carefully with his eyes—and nod. He reached for the handle of the door behind him and pulled it open to turn and see Gabe tidying up the front desk.

Not that it needed tidying; Dean had done everything himself perfectly, if he had anything to say about it. But he wouldn’t.

“Oh, there you two are. Finishing some paperwork, eh?” Gabe said, plucking a lolly from his mouth. Cas wisely kept his mouth shut, too, thankfully. “Oh, and you might want to straighten that tie. People might get ideas about closed doors.”

With a salacious wink, Gabe trotted off, leaving Dean stood dumbfounded behind him. He turned to find Cas an incredibly endearing shade of pink, from the tips of his ears down, down, down to beneath his shirt collar.

Grinning to himself, Dean took leave of the library and peeled out of the parking lot. 

*******

“What’s for dinner, boy?” greeted him when he got home. In fact, he amended it in his head to remove the question, because the way John had spoken, it definitely was more of a demand than anything.

Dean’s buoyed spirits sank immediately. He’d hoped that maybe Sammy would take it upon himself to make something to eat. But by the sound of the blaring Top 40s coming from the boy’s room he was right in the middle of an intense study session.

Nothing would pull him out of that except for the smell of food, which obviously wasn’t going to happen unless Dean cooked it. He sighed. As it stood now, he’d wouldn’t get much shut-eye before he had to leave for the diner.

“Just lemme change first…”

Dean bristled at the words his dad muttered under his breath.

“ _Can’t get yer damn fancy clothes dirty, nancy boy_.”

His momentary anger quickly dissolved into resignation and hurt as the words washed through him, cutting their little barbs deep inside him. He shook himself, patched himself up, and moved on as best he could.

Which was to say, he pulled out anything salvageable from the fridge and pantry—he’d have to go shopping soon; there was no way anybody else would do it, and money was already a bit tight from having lost tips from the bartending gig he’d had.

Great. Now he was upset with himself for not having looked for a better job instead of taking the first one that dropped in his lap. He could’ve helped out his family for once instead of trying to help out complete strangers and a co-worker.

His mood soured further when he realised that the pasta sauce he wanted to use was spoiled. It was the last straw. His anger and frustration boiled over to the point where all he saw was red, and the next thing he knew he had thrown the jar at the wall, splattering the entire kitchen, himself, and from the looks of it, his father, and he had a throbbing pain in the bones surrounding his eye. Dean found himself on the floor, sauce dripping off his chin, mixing with tiny dribbles of blood. John had drawn blood this time.

“You fuckin’ useless, shit-for-brains idiot. Clean up this goddamn mess. Then get out of my fuckin’ sight.”

John’s words were hardly slurred, so Dean couldn’t blame this outburst on the alcohol. He wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse…

“But what about—”

His dad raised his fist again, effectively muting Dean. “Sam can make us something. Get your shit together and get out.”

Once it sunk in that John never called him by his first name, that he only slung insult after insult, the wounds he’d patched up earlier broke open again, bleeding fire through his veins. Dean blinked back any semblance of tears that threatened to escape and got up recklessly, wincing and hissing as glass shards dug into his hands and knees.

He made quick work of pulling them out, and then he moved on to cleaning up the mess he’d made in his moment of rage. His whole face throbbed, and he was sure he’d have a fancy shiner by the time he made it to the diner.

*******

“I really don’t want to talk about it, Benny,” Dean said gruffly, punching in his card.

“You didn’t get in another fight now, did ya?”

“I…” Dean began to shake his head before he caught himself. His eyes lit up with an idea. Looking up at the cook, he continued in a faux resigned voice. “Yeah, man. You should see the other guy.”

Oddly, Benny’s face shuttered closed, almost as though he’d been expecting a different answer. He was disappointed in Dean but not for the obvious reason—that he’d gotten in a fight. Did he know that Dean was lying? Bull. There was nothing to suspect about him. Nobody knew about John’s more…physical tendencies when he was drunk. It’d been impossible to keep his drinking from them. Sometimes John went public with it, out on the streets causing scenes when he was kicked out of the bars. But since he never got fighting angry with anybody but Dean—he winced internally at the thought—nobody knew about it. And it was going to stay that way. He was even sure he’d been able to keep it from Sammy, the person he least wanted to know anything about his dad’s drunkard ways.

Dean’s voice faltered under Benny’s gaze. “Not really. He thought I was checkin’ out his woman, so he decked me. I was pissed, but I just left instead.” He looked away from the Southerner. “You should, uh, you should be proud of me.”

“Proud of you.”

Dean’s stomach dropped to somewhere around his knees at Benny’s flat voice.

“You—we should just drop it.” With that, he pushed through the doors to the front of the diner.

And nearly ran smack into Cas. Well, not really, since the counter would’ve been there. Or was there. Whatever. Two seconds of seeing the guy and he was flustered beyond belief.

“Cas, uh, hey, dude.”

 _Dude_? Dean wanted to bang his head on the counter. Instead he kept his gaze on Cas, whose head snapped up and whose brilliant blue eyes widened in surprise before narrowing on Dean’s obvious wound. They rapidly scanned his face as though searching for something.

“What happened?”

The way it was phrased was more of a demand than a question, so of course Dean had to be stupid and get defensive.

“I ran into a door. Can you believe it?” He laughed nervously.

“I don’t particularly like being fed falsehoods for dinner,” Cas said, taking a tip of his coffee calmly for having just called Dean a liar.

So of course Dean got defensive.

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t like being accused of things right before I start my shift,” he ground out, angrily tying his waiter’s apron around his waist. “Now before I can stomp off, is there anything else I can get you?”

Dean forced a smile onto his face and watched as Cas’ features froze and then softened between one moment and the next.

“No, not right now. Thank you,” he finally said in a small voice.

Dean had absolutely no idea what to make of _that_ , so he did the next best thing and ignored it and moved on to the next table. He said his hellos gruffly to Charlie, who noticed his black eye and his mood and decided to make the best of it it by not bringing it up—at least not yet, since he knew Charlie wouldn’t leave it alone forever. Why did he pick such nosy friends?

Throughout the first couple of hours, Dean felt eyes on him, watching him as he worked through the slew of tables, cleaning up dishes, and getting refills, but whenever he looked around, nobody was looking back at him. Cas was still there, though, picking at his dinner. He was very obviously not looking at the waiter. Dean had checked on him a few times to see if he wanted anything else, dessert maybe—and the different uses for whipped cream did _not_ pass through his head at the time—but every time Cas had refused.

Eventually, when the later evening rush came in, Dean felt it necessary to bring Cas his check, however reluctant he was for the man to leave—which confused him even further; wasn’t he mad at the guy? He also wondered why Charlie hadn’t cashed him out before she’d left since she’d been the one to serve him. Maybe she’d just forgotten.

When Cas picked up the piece of paper listing his cost—Dean had felt obligated to give him a discount since his actual server hadn’t finished up with him, something that would probably come out of his tips for the night—his eyes widened in surprise. Or was it…disappointment? No, of course not. When Dean came back after handing off a couple of plates of meat loaf—who ordered that at a diner?—Cas gave him the check back folded around the money he owed.

Cas’ fingers left blazing trails along his own as he said, “I’ll see you Monday, Dean.” The way the man said his name made him gooey in the middle and tight in the jeans.

“I, uh, yeah. See you.” His fist crumpled the bill in his embarrassment, but Cas did nothing more than smile softly at Dean before turning and leaving the restaurant.

“Hate to see ‘im leave, but love to see ‘im walk away, brother?”

Benny’s voice from the serving window scared Dean enough to have jumping fifteen feet in the air. Or that was what it felt like anyway. He turned with a scowl on his face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He set the wrinkled ticket and folded bills on the counter. He ignored the fact that his face was burning with the power to melt suns.

“He musta had a huge dinner.” Benny nodded at the bills.

“Would you start making sense? Cas only had a burger…” Dean realised his mistake the moment the words left his lips.

“Oh, on a first name basis with all the customers, are we?” Benny’s smirk couldn’t be any more insulting if he’d tried. Dean wanted to smack it right off his face.

He was about to when he heard the rattling of ice in an empty cup. He sighed and placed the menu he’d been raising back in its holder, though Benny’s next words made him pause.

“I’m just sayin’ that’s a mighty big tip for just a burger, friend.”

Dean glanced at the bills in his hand before shoving them into his apron. Shame flooded through his veins, scorching him to his core. _Another_ twenty dollar tip. The embarrassment flooded his face as he risked a look at Benny, who he found still had mischief in his eyes before his face fell into a more sombre expression.

“Now, don’t get that look on your—”

“Your bacon is burning.”

Luckily that was enough to shut him up and leave him be. The rest of the night passed smoothly, though a frown tugged at his lips nearly every moment he wasn’t politely interacting with diners. Benny fortunately was wise enough to leave him to the humiliation that swarmed through his veins, twisting his face into something sour when he thought nobody was looking.

Cas _tiel_ apparently thought he was some sort of charity case. Well, Dean wouldn’t stand for that. He accepted no charity. He was good enough to provide for his family—never mind how dishonest that statement seemed most of the time. His dad was quick enough to point it out anyway.

Not soon enough did the sun rise and Pamela show up with a glow about her that was almost enough to put a smile back on Dean’s face. He finished up with his last few odds and ends and finally, finally punched out and hung his apron on his hook.

“Dean…” Benny started to say but trailed off at Dean’s carefully blank expression.

“You left me alone all night. Think you can just continue that until after I've gone home and gotten a couple of glorious hours of sleep?” Dean checked the time on his old flip phone. “Thank whoever for making Bobby open shop later on weekends.”

“All right, brother, but don't think I'll forget.”

“I wouldn't dream of it, Benny. You and elephants have a lot more in common than you might think.”

Dean dodged the burly man’s good-natured swing before realising that his phone was buzzing in his hand.

“Hey, Bobby! Was just talkin’ about you and how you're a saint—”

“ _Well, you'd better quit lyin’ and shut yer trap before you get us in trouble with the man upstairs._ ” Bobby’s voice crackled through the tinny speaker. Maybe it was time for an upgrade with whatever meagre piece of shit technology his tips could get him. “ _Listen, think you can come now? I need your help earlier’n I thought._ ”

“Well, I—” Dean paused, thinking how he could… Who was he kidding? He couldn't let Bobby down. He scrubbed a hand down his face, to shake off the shroud that hung over him. “Yeah, of course. I'll be right over.”

He flipped the phone closed, ignoring the look Benny was giving him, and fished his keys from his pocket. He heard them jingling faintly and realised his hands were shaking.

“Dean… You're exhausted—”

“I'm fine. I'll fry up a couple eggs and be good as new.” Dean grabbed two eggs from a giant bowl filled with them before he was gently shoved to the side.

“Budge over. You won't make ‘em right.”

Dean pulled up a stool and sat down heavily. Benny’s bayou accent washed over him, pulling him down into the comfortable dark.

“—Dean? You listenin’ to me?”

“Huh? What? Yeah, Benny, what'd you say?” Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, embarrassed by the drool he found there.

“Jesus, brother... I was just talkin’ about how I don't think you should give your…man friend…a piece of your mind just yet. Maybe he just don't know how to act with people. Maybe that's just him tellin’ you he likes you.”

Dean stiffened on his stool. “So I should just play the grateful whore and dance for his boudoir delights?”

Fuck, he _really_ didn't want to go down that road again.

“You know that's not what I meant. You know it.”

Benny knew a lot about Dean’s past, but he didn't know that part of it. And nobody would, if he had anything to say about it. But maybe Benny was right. Maybe Cas was just trying to say something but didn't know how to express it best. Maybe…

“I know, I know. I'm sorry.” Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. “Okay. Fine. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. This time. But the twenty dollar tips have gotta stop.”

“Sure, sure.” Suddenly very interested in the eggs and bacon he was frying up on the grill, Benny was obviously trying and failing to hide a grin.

Dean couldn't really blame him for laughing at his predicament. Whatever part of him that couldn't stay mad at the librarian he barely knew—but very much wanted to get to know—was all the larger than the part of him that wanted to stay angry with the guy. Maybe Cas really was clueless and didn't understand tips. Maybe this was his version of flirting?

Benny startled Dean out of his jumbled, tired thoughts when he shoved a doggy bag into his hands. “Made ya a sandwich so you can eat on the ride over to Bobby’s. I still think you should call him back—”

“And I think you should mind your own damn business,” Dean interjected, fishing out his keys. “I'm not some porcelain doll who's gonna break because I didn't get my beauty sleep for once.”

Benny held up his hands in mock defeat, and only nodded slightly when Dean lamely gave his goodbyes. Good. Another thing he'd finally screwed up. What a great start to the weekend.

******* 

Dean stood in the bathroom, water dripping down his face. Six cups of coffee were all well and good before 11 am, but there was only so much they could apparently do. It was all he could do to keep on his feet. He didn't know how many times a wrench had fallen from slack fingers. He was just grateful that Bobby hasn't commented on it. He'd already been under the hood of at least ten cars, and he didn't know how much longer he could go before asking for a lunch break.

The man hadn't been kidding when he said he'd needed help from open to close today. He'd woken up to a line as far as he could see outside his shop of cars and customers. Neither of them had quite figured out the cause of the sudden influx, whether it was the upcoming holiday weekend or maybe just that folks were wanting to weatherproof their vehicles before the cold weather set in, but they weren't too keen on questioning the good fortune.

Bobby hadn't yet gotten to the point where a smile had reached his face, but he couldn't keep the grin from his face when he muttered things like, “Damn fool idjits and their damn fool cars.”

That was enough to put a tired smile on Dean’s face until realisation dawned. If this business boom wasn't temporary--and it probably wouldn't be if word of mouth was anything to go by--then pretty soon Bobby would be able to hire an actually certified mechanic. He'd be able to get rid of the untrained, high school dropout who'd barely been able to get his GED. Bobby had already implied that he didn't like Dean's schedule as it was.

“Were you working at the diner again last night?” Bobby had asked. “You smell like bacon and syrup.” He gave Dean a once over and obviously came up wanting from the look on his face.

Dean has grimaced and did what came naturally to him: he'd lied. “No, I was just getting breakfast there when you called.”

He'd handed Bobby the last half of his sandwich, suddenly nauseated at the thought of coming up short in the man’s eyes. He'd seen Bobby eyeing the food anyway.

Dean splashed more freezing water onto his face to stave off the anxiety attack that was threatening to come at the prospect of having to find another job that would only make him work weekends. He knew it was only a matter of time before Bobby let him go now. And there was nothing he could do about it. Hell, he didn't even blame the guy. Bobby had done enough for Dean as it was. Now all Dean could do was be the best damn mechanic he could be until he got the pink slip.

He heard the telltale jingle of the little bell inside the garage and it was only a matter of time as he waited for--

“Customer!” Bobby shouted from the back of the shop where he was taking a break after mumbling about a young man saying his Prius would get touchy if you didn't use the right tools.

“Oh, don't worry about it, old man. I've got it!” Dean yelled back as he made his way out front.

“Don't forget to smile, and the customer’s always right!” Bobby bellowed.

Dean chuckled as he backed into the swinging door that led to the customer service area of the shop.

“How can I...help...you?” He dropped the dirty rag he'd been holding out of shock.

Surprise coloured Cas’ features as well before he schooled them enough to say, “Hello, Dean.”

Fuck, he wasn't prepared to see this guy again so soon. He'd figured he would have all weekend. Dean was sure he looked absolutely awful. There was probably grease in his hair and all over his face…

“Uh, hey.” A small smile crept onto Dean's face as his eyes roved over the man’s rugged looks. Cas hadn't shaved yet, and he looked absolutely delicious. To prevent himself from running his fingers--or better yet, his whole face--through the stubble, he ran them through his hair.

Goddamnit. Now there _definitely_ was oil in his hair.

Cas’ eyes tracked the movement and traced around his face before finally settling on Dean's black eye. His lips turned into a small scowl.

“Dean, your eye--”

He was quick to allay the librarian’s fears. “Don't worry about it. It'll be gone by Monday for sure.”

And it would be, even if he had to run to Charlie to use her concealer. There was no way he'd let his dad ruin yet another job for him just because he couldn't make his fists land where it wouldn't show.

Confusion settled into Cas’ eyes. “That's not what I…”

He trailed off as he read Dean's face. He must've noticed the pleading in the mechanic’s eyes, with the internal mantra-- _Please don't fire me. Please don't fire me._

Cas coughed lightly and blinked a few times. “Very well. So. You work here as well?”

There was no disdain in Cas’ voice or disgust in his expression, but Dean couldn't help but wince at the mention of his third job. There was no way Cas could believe this made Dean anything but even less worthy of his time.

“I help out on the weekends and whenever else I can, yeah.”

“You're good with cars then.”

Dean heard a laugh from the back room. Bobby was obviously more than ready for a real mechanic to set foot in his shop.

“I'm passable,” Dean said.

Cas searched for _something_ in Dean's face before finally replying. “I see. Well, if you wouldn't mind taking a look at mine, it's making a very unusual noise.”

Now Dean had a choice. He could tell Cas to come back another time, since they were so busy for just two employees. He threw that one out immediately. Another option was to bump Cas up in the line in an effort to impress him, and in the meantime piss off every other customer who was waiting around the garage or exploring the salvage yard. That one was probably out as well, but he kept it on the back burner just in case. The only other thing he could think of would be to…

“If you leave it, I can take care of it by tonight.” Dean could see Cas considering, so he blurted out, “And I can drive it back to you after I’m finished. It’s, uh, part of the service.”

Cas’ eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Really? By tonight?”

Dean covered the hurt Cas’ words caused by reaching for a slip of paper. He probably wasn’t the best, but Cas didn’t know that, and he didn’t have to doubt him that much, did he?

“Yeah, tonight. I can do it.” His gaze flitted over to the cars still waiting to be seen out in the lot before settling back onto Cas. “If you could just write down your address and number--in case anything goes wrong.”

The other man’s expression softened as he took a pen. “I suppose I’ll call Gabriel to come pick me up.”

Dean nodded and turned to get back into the garage, afraid to voice anything further. Fingers curled around his wrist.

“Oh, and Dean? Maybe come hungry? I might have some dessert waiting for you.” Cas gave his wrist a squeeze, and his eyes raked up and down Dean’s body.

A shiver ran down Dean’s spine that had nothing to do with the crisp autumn air billowing in as Cas left the shop.

*******

“No, listen, Sam. I’m not going to do that right now. Listen, ya idjit!”

Dean paused outside Bobby’s office. He was talking on the phone with Sammy of all people, it sounded like, and he didn’t want to interrupt. Honestly he wanted to listen in, too.

“I ain’t gonna do that to him right now. You know how well he’d take it. He’s not in a good place right now. Who knows what he’d do. I will do it, just not today.”

They were definitely talking about him, and from the sounds of it, he was talking to Sammy about firing him! He couldn’t believe Bobby was telling his kid brother about this before he told Dean. Was his work really that bad he didn’t deserve to know he was getting canned until the last minute? He wasn’t going to get a chance to defend himself, though really, if he thought about it, what was there to say? Especially if Bobby already thought that little of him.

And what were they going on about his fragile state of mind? Losing another job wasn’t about to make him go off the deep end! Would it? At least it looked like he was safe for another weekend, anyway.

Dean silently backtracked a few steps, then stomped forward toward Bobby’s door to make it obvious that he was on his way. He knocked just as Bobby was saying, “I gotta go.”

“I think I’m headin’ out for the day. See ya tomorrow?” Dean asked the question as nonchalantly as he could, but there was a tremor he hoped Bobby wouldn’t detect.

“‘Course. How many do you got saved for tomorrow?” Bobby asked.

“I, uh… I finished them all?” Dean couldn't help turning it into a question.

“You...fixed all the cars. All 23 of them.” Bobby’s voice was a study in incredulity.

Dean blinked. “24.”

“Oh, right. You didn't turn away that last customer? What'd he need done?”

“I rebuilt his engine.” Dean spoke so fast it was almost as though it was all one word.

Bobby choked on the swig of beer from the bottle he'd just opened from the mini fridge.

“You worked on two dozen cars, including tearing apart and rebuilding an entire engine. By yourself.”

Dean winced. Should he be doubting all of his own work this much? Of course, there were always his own concerns, but he'd never quite felt anything of this magnitude.

“You can check it all out, if you need to. Some of the cars are still here. In fact, I gotta take one back to its driver tonight.”

“No, no. Ain't got time for that, boy.” Bobby shook his head at Dean. “Somethin’ else, I tell ya. Now get your damn idjit self outta here before I find a reason to be mad at ya.”

Dean wasn’t at all sure what to make of that, so he just took it and ran with it, straight out the door and into Cas’ Jetta. Normally, he would have burnt rubber hauling ass out of the lot, but since it wasn’t his car, technically, he felt like he shouldn’t.

After getting turned around only a couple of times--he’d never been to this part of town, okay?--Dean finally pulled into Cas’ driveway. There he sat for a few minutes, trying to get his pulse under control. He wasn’t sure what to make of this situation either. He really wished people would stop trying to pull the wool over his eyes, or however the phrase went. He twirled the wildflower he’d found on his second detour through some unknown streets between two fingers as he thought.

By dessert, had Cas meant...sex? And by sex...did he mean payment for this repair? Did Cas actually only see Dean as some sort of rentboy? Get his rocks off, get favours, that sort of thing?

Well, Dean thought to himself, squaring his shoulders as he quietly shut the door, only one way to find out. Without giving himself a chance to think about it anymore, he strode up to the door and rang the bell. The house itself was settled in fairly well-to-do neighbourhood, and the garden around him was tidy and well-groomed.

The door swung open, and there Cas stood in all his casual glory. Dressed in a fitted sweater and slacks, he was stunning. He really had to stop stealing Dean’s breath. It was a vital component to life, didn’t he know?

“Dean.”

Dean could listen to Cas saying his name for years on end, he thought. Especially if he was able to look into those eyes while he did it.

“Come in, please.”

“I can’t. I’m disgusting in these clothes.” His only saving grace was the plastic he’d put down in Cas’ car to protect the seat he’d just meticulously cleaned.

“All the more reason to get you out of them and straight into the shower.” Cas’ eyes gleamed as he pulled Dean into his home and slammed the door.

*******

Dean rolled off Cas, taking heaving breaths as he came down from the natural high. Almost immediately the anxiety settled back into his skin, seeping into his bones. He hated this part normally, and with someone he so obviously cared for… What did he do next? Did he stay? Did he go? Wait for an invite?

Cas stood up quickly and disappeared into the bathroom, quietly disposing of the condom in the bin. When he returned holding a warm and wet cloth, he found Dean slipping into his jeans. Cas’ sudden movement had spurred Dean into his own.

“Ah. Will you be needing a ride anywhere?”

Dean blushed. “I think I’ll walk. Give me a chance to stretch the legs you just gave a killer workout.”

He would’ve preferred a ride, but at Cas’ blunt acceptance of his imminent departure, he realised he’d made the right decision. Cas didn’t want him staying over. He was just a piece of ass to him. And Dean could handle that. He’d have to if that’s all Cas was willing to give him.

So he put a smirk on his face, pulled on his shirt, and he left. He didn’t let his face fall or shoulders slump until he was a few blocks away. And he didn’t see Cas carefully pick up the wildflower Dean had dropped near the foyer and gently press it into a large tome with a small smile on his face.

*******

The next few weeks passed similarly. Dean would work Monday through Friday at the library with Cas, weeknights at the diner, and with Bobby at the salvage yard during the weekends. He was also still responsible for all of the housework, which was becoming more and more shoddy. But he couldn't ask Sammy and risk taking away from his schoolwork. And there was no way in hell John was going to offer to do anything.

It was an exhausting life for Dean. But being able to get his kid brother new shoes _and_ the money for a science field trip was more than worth it. And if he'd had to sacrifice getting himself a new phone to replace the one that was being held together with electrical tape, who was he to complain? Hell, if he'd been in a school that offered trips like this when he was Sammy’s age, he might not have dropped out so early. None of that mattered, though, when every morning Sam got up to go to school with a smile on his face.

Nothing was perfect. There were some days that his brother grumbled and fought him about going, like he was five years old again trying to avoid bath water as though it caused him physical pain to be clean. Some nights, Dean's tips would be tight and he wouldn't have enough to buy Dad’s favourite beer, so John would have to settle for a cheaper brand. Those days were never good. He'd started buying his own concealer for the days when John was enraged enough to go for the face. Another expense, but fewer questions asked by the cashier at the store than by Charlie for borrowing hers. A couple YouTube videos, and he'd become pro at applying it.

But all of that faded away when he saw Cas and his damn blue eyes that could run the sky out of business. It didn't matter that he was averaging two hours of sleep a night. When he was lucky, Bobby would let him go early on a Sunday after some grumbling about his work ethic, and he'd get a few extra hours of sleep that week before having to cook the big family dinners that John insisted on during the weekend. Dean hadn't forgotten about his fear that he'd be replaced, and Bobby’s comments on his performance or attitudes did nothing to allay it, but it was another worry that took the back burner when he was with Cas. It didn't matter that nothing pleased his dad when it came to Dean. It didn't matter that what little personal time Dean had that wasn't spent on three jobs, home life, or Sammy, was usually eaten up by time with Cas. He'd gladly give it all to him, if he just asked.

But he'd since given up all hopes for anything romantic with Cas. He’d tried twice, in a fumbling manner, to get the man to go out with him, but both times Cas had already had plans. Dean hadn't pressed for more details, and he'd given up on the pretense that the relationship they had was anything more than physical. Dean didn't blame Cas for their always-secret rendezvous. He was a mess. He wouldn't want an actual relationship with himself either. So he took what Cas gave him and ran with it.

He'd gladly take the heavy make out sessions behind rarely seen bookshelves, the rough and tumble in Cas’ locked office (and occasionally on a table after closing), and the furtive, flirtatious touches that Cas would give him when he believed nobody was looking over nothing at all.

Dean shivered as he put away some novels in the romance section, slowing down as he looked at some of their covers. Sure, the sex was amazing. He'd never known sex with a dude could be so good. (He was hesitant to think on the few times he'd done it before.) So yeah, that was fantastic and all, but some part of him wanted to go on a romantic date like they talked about in these damn books.

Like that one! It had a couple drawn in a nice restaurant, sipping on decadent wine, and eating entrées that probably cost as much as his entire wardrobe. Was it so bad that Dean wanted that, too? But who was he kidding? He wasn't worth dropping that money on. The most he needed was a fast food burger and a quick fuck in the bathroom stall.

And hey, if he threw the rest of the books onto the shelves with a little more hatred than was necessary, it was a slow day in the library. There was nobody around to see him kick the cart and then curse his throbbing toe.

Dean dragged the offending thing back up toward the front desk to get more books, or, if there weren't any, tell Cas he was taking his fifteen. One part of him wanted Cas to join him on the break and maybe screw his brains out and get his mind far away from these emotionally draining and teenaged girl-like thoughts he was currently having, and another part wanted to be left the hell alone. He wasn't sure which was larger.

As he approached the front of the library, he heard Cas and Gabe speaking. His name was brought up, and though he knew it was wrong to, Dean stopped the cart and eavesdropped.

“It is alright with you if I ask Dean to close alone tomorrow?” Cas asked, voice gravelly as ever.

“So you can go and hang out with your Thaddeus?” Gabe’s voice was muffled, and knowing him, he was talking around another sucker.

“I wish you wouldn't speak about him like that. Our time together is important, and yes, I need to make sure everything is perfect before I see him again.”

Dean was rooted to the spot. All his breath flew out of him like he'd been kicked, and a vice gripped his heart. _Thaddeus? Who the…_

And then he realised what Cas had just said, and it all made sense. Time with him was important, and it all had to be perfect. That Thaddeus guy must be Cas’ actual boyfriend, and with a name like that, he had to be a match for Castiel. This was the reason Cas didn't want to be seen in public with Dean, the reason for no romantic dinners, no moonlit walks, no flowers…

Dean was just a piece on the side. It was all coming together. He felt sick; his stomach was roiling as much as his thoughts were. He couldn't believe Cas would let himself be tempted by someone like Dean. He wasn't worth the risk to a relationship like it sounded Cas had with...Thaddeus.

He ignored the burn of envy that flooded his veins. Dean didn't have the right to what Cas had with the other man. And he didn't have the right to let Cas keep risking ruining it all with him.

Okay. So that settled it. Dean squared his shoulders and brought the cart noisily around the corner. The brothers seemed startled, Dean noted, as he told them he was taking a break.

So what if he was proud that his voice didn't quaver or that he was able to look Cas in the eyes without wanting the world to swallow him whole? Nobody needed to know.

******* 

Dean ran his fingers through his greasy hair. No matter how little time he spent in the kitchen of the diner, he always came away covered. And now Bobby wanted to show him something at the shop before he headed over to the library for the day, where he was supposed to close up by himself so Cas could have a date with his proper boyfriend.

Cas had asked him on his break if he'd be willing to do it, quick to let him know it was okay to feel uncomfortable since he was still new. Dean had quickly agreed, if only to get the other man out of the room. He could barely breathe. All he'd wanted to do was be kissed, and there wasn't any way Dean could let that happen again. Cas had seemed to notice his mood and had left him to his thoughts and his crummy sandwich after a quick thanks.

The night at the diner hadn't been much better. He still wasn't quite back on equal footing with Benny, who'd been anything but chatty with Dean since their spat a few weeks ago. Sure, the bear of a guy was civil enough with him, but not anymore so than he'd be with a customer or someone he met on the street. So between facing more of that and trying to figure out the best way to confront Cas and end things before Dean had a chance to mess what he had with Thaddeus up, he didn't exactly have a great night.

His “See ya later, Benny,” was met with silence, and he wouldn't realise until later that he’d just lied to his friend.

So Dean pulled up at the shop, already in a bad mood, and it wasn’t helped when Bobby wasn’t in the first obvious place he looked. Or the second. Or even the third.

“Bobby!” Dean yelled out, his anger bleeding into his voice.

“I’m in the back, ya idjit. I’ve got someone I’d like ya to meet,” Bobby said as Dean made his way toward the office.

Dean froze when he was met with a tall, dark man who was intimidating (and handsome, a small, unhelpful part of his mind added) as hell. Bobby was stood there grinning for all the world.

“This here’s Doug. He’s the new mechanic I just hired,” Bobby said with a hand on Doug’s shoulder. “He just got his certification last week.”

 _A.K.A. your replacement, Dean._ With his world crashing down around him, he unfeelingly stuck his hand out to shake Doug’s, flinching when the man’s grip was tighter than expected. He couldn’t believe it. He was losing the best thing that had ever happened to him, and now he’d lost his favourite job.

“It’s nice to meet you, Doug. Bobby, I’ve got to get to work, so I guess I’ll pick up my things later.” His voice was hollow in his own ears, muted behind the blood rushing in his ears.

So loud he didn’t hear Bobby calling after him. “Boy? What do you mean, you’ll pick up--boy! Dean!”

Dean rushed out to the Impala, kicking up gravel as he sped out of the lot, and tried to breathe through the anxiety attack. He shot off a text to Charlie.

_You at work today?_

_The whole day is mine to conquer!_

Dean had to laugh at Charlie’s exuberance and unique way of looking at the world.

 _Got booze?_ he asked.

_For my favourite handmaiden? Always. And I won’t even note the time of day._

Dean made a left and headed toward Charlie’s.

*******

He was beginning to worry. Not only because the time was creeping closer to when he needed to leave to meet his mentor about his dissertation, but also because it wasn’t like Dean to be late. He had missed the entire first half of his shift, and each of Castiel’s calls had gone unanswered and unreturned. He had a feeling that all of his voicemails, as inept as he was at leaving them, went unheard.

Castiel was grateful that it was generally a slow a day at the library. It also was not as though he hadn’t ever opened the library by himself before. Gabriel was usually a slow-to-rise type of person, liking to leave the early morning business to Castiel--on the days he bothered to show his face at all. The simple truth of the matter was that he missed Dean.

Of course, he missed the physical aspect of their relationship. He loved sliding his hand down Dean’s arm and seeing the other man shiver. He missed their clandestine kisses between the aisles of the books he so loved. But he also just missed…

 _Dean_.

He was unused to this feeling. It was completely alien to him. He missed just having Dean near him. He missed hearing Dean speak. The man had a voice on him that did _things_ to Castiel he didn’t want to admit. There was also the life that lit up Dean’s green eyes with such a vibrancy when he spoke of his passions that Castiel didn’t think he could ever put into words, much less experience for himself. Castiel could listen to him talk of cars for hours, and sometimes it seemed as though Dean could indeed speak on the subject for that long. Then there were the surprising intellectual conversations they had.

They weren’t surprising in that Castiel thought Dean was unintelligent and therefore incapable of them. He in fact thought Dean was an unrealised genius--the man _had_ taught himself to read after all. Dean had told him that he’d come home crying from kindergarten one day because he was the only kid who hadn’t learnt to read yet. So he’d taken all of the books in his room and taught himself, using the memories of his mom reading the stories to him to help sound out the words, along with the few tapes for learning he’d had.

What was surprising was that Dean enjoyed those talks about life and philosophy and everything in between. Castiel had always sensed a sort of disdain for such things from Dean before. Though, he mused to himself as he sat at the desk, tapping his foot, perhaps it was less disdain and more disbelief. The light would slowly die from Dean’s eyes as he realised the subject matter, and he would quickly bring the conversation back to something he felt safer, as though he didn’t feel the right to talk of things like that.

His concern mounting, Castiel tried to decide what he should do next. The emergency contact number on Dean’s file had been a dead end. Nobody answered and Sam had been on the voicemail greeting, implying that Dean was the only one who called the number, and the only reason he wouldn’t answer would be school, and that Dean should know that. His anxiety had even gone so far as to make him call the local hospital to see if any Dean Winchesters had been admitted. Fortunately, none had, but it also left him meeting another proverbial brick wall. Castiel had no other numbers to try, and it wasn’t as though he could go and actually _look_ for his coworker...friend...sexual partner?

That was another thing Castiel had recently resolved to figure out soon. He’d wanted to do things on Dean’s terms, because it had seemed as though things with Castiel had surprised and shocked him at first. Castiel hadn’t wanted Dean to become skittish and back away with any romantic overtures from him. So he had taken what Dean had given him, and he’d patiently waited for the rest. But that patience was wearing thin. If he really thought about it, Dean might have asked him out twice before--or at the very least, tried in his fumbling way. All he’d truly done was ask if Castiel had plans, and when he’d answered in the affirmative, Dean had quickly changed the subject in a complete about-face, veering away from anything that had to do with their days, or anything that might have hinted at romantic intentions.

 _Romantic intentions_ … Castiel had no idea how to categorise how he felt for Dean Winchester. He knew, without certainty, that he wanted _more_ with the man. He might even go so far as to say he’d like to have everything Dean would offer him. Castiel didn’t know if what he felt was love. He didn’t know much about it, aside from his relationship with Gabriel, and this was _certainly_ different from _that_. All he really knew was that he cared for Dean deeply, and he wanted to know everything about him, and spend as much time with him as their lives allowed--if Dean would allow it. Castiel hoped against everything that Dean would let him into his life, and that it wouldn’t turn out to be another missed opportunity.

Just as Castiel was asking Google about the rules of missing persons, he felt a breeze from the front door of the library being opened. He looked up and stood there was Dean Winchester in all his green eyed glory. A rare smile--rare without the presence of Dean anyway--graced Castiel’s face as he stood to meet the man of his literal dreams. (Some things were better left unsaid.)

Well, perhaps Dean’s aforementioned glory was a bit muted. His clothes were rumpled, not at all work appropriate, hair disheveled--to put it bluntly he was what they termed “a hot mess.” And his eyes, his evergreen eyes… They were dim and glassy, rimmed with red.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said cautiously, uncertain as to the other man’s state of mind. Instead of being instantly soothed by Dean’s presence, his appearance only heightened his sense of concern.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean slurred. Castiel could smell the alcohol from behind the desk.

Alarm bells ringing in his head, he gestured behind him. “Shall we take this into my office?”

The look on Dean's face was the definition of wary, but he finally nodded. “Yeah, prob-ly a good idea.”

Dean refused Castiel’s offer to take a seat, so the librarian perched on his desk and watched as Dean paced back and forth, a hand in his hair as he seemed to struggle to find words.

Castiel’s heart was in his throat, constricting further with every passing second. His ineptitude with empathy for others was usually far-reaching, but he always felt completely in tune with Dean. He could read the man like one of his beloved books, and today was no different.

Dean Winchester was oozing agony and suffering.

Castiel wanted so much to bring Dean into his arms and hold him until all of that pain went away, but a large part of him knew that a move to do so right then would be exactly the thing to let Dean Winchester slip through his fingers and out of his life forever. As far as Castiel could tell, all of this was emotional rather than physical. He could not see any signs of bodily trauma.

He wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.

“I came here to apoplo…alolo...apolgo…. To say I'm sorry.” Dean finally spoke, but it was to his own untied shoelaces. He was making every effort to not look at Castiel. “I'm sorry for being me. The me that's, ya know… Not for you. Not good enough for you, I mean. No! Please, let me finish,” he said when Castiel made to protest.

“I'm sorry for not bein’ the right guy for you. Not bein’ who you want to take out to places. ‘M sorry for not bein’ smart and, ya know, cultured. Tha’s all in the stars for my brother, but not so much for me. ‘M jus’ good for nothin’ really. Fixin’ a few cars maybe. But a grease monkey ain't good enough for _you_ , Cas. You deserve better, ‘n’ I don’ deserve you. I ain't done nothin’ to deserve you.

“But more ‘n anything I'm sorry for...for...for takin’ you away from Thaddicus--Thad--your guy. I didn’t know you were with someone, and ‘m so sorry for nearly ruining everything you had with him. Maybe in another parley--pallarel--a different world, we might’ve found one another. If I would’ve been smarter, maybe I’d’ve finished high school. I dunno. I just know that you and Thaddeus--” Dean’s eyes widened in surprise that he’d finally gotten the name right, “--belong together. I know that I might love you in this world, but sometimes that’s not enough, right?”

Dean’s eyes took on a different light, as though examining memories, and his face fell when they obviously came up short. “So I guess this is goodbye, Cas. Have a great life. You deserve all the happiness this dumb world can offer.”

Castiel was frozen in shock at hearing Dean profess his love for _him_ , of all people. Castiel’s heart had swollen to a point beyond belief at Dean’s last words, after having shrivelled into almost nothing at hearing the man’s vision of himself.

Was that really what Dean saw in his mind’s eye? Such woeful inadequacy? If it were physically possible to kick himself, he’d do it over not having seen this before. When Dean was with him, Castiel could not remember a time that these insecurities had made themselves known. But it certainly threw everything into a different light.

Every time Dean had changed the subject when discussing the future, especially his own; every time Dean had furiously blushed when given a compliment, and almost always seducing him to bed or behind a bookshelf--those were diversion tactics, the more Castiel thought on it…

Finally shaking himself out of his reverie, Castiel realised he was alone in the office. Rooted in his seat on the desk, he didn’t realise that Dean had left his office, left the library, until it was too late.

Castiel shot out of his office, jacket and keys in hand. Nearly running a patron over jolted him into remembering where he was and his responsibility to the library. One woman was waiting at the desk to check out a few books. Several others were spread apart at the tables. Castiel had to get out of there; he had to _find Dean_.

Thinking quickly, he raised his voice to near shouting levels. “I apologise for any inconvenience, but there’s been an emergency and the library must close immediately. Please gather your belongings quickly and exit the premises.”

Castiel frowned as most of the patrons just sat where they were, completely unresponsive. Then he got angry. Didn’t they know he had to find Dean?!

“ _Now!_ ”

To a man, they all jumped at the frustration in his voice and quickly left the building. Of course, it still wasn’t to the satisfaction of Castiel. By the time he got to his car, he had no idea how much of a head start Dean had, or to where he would even travel.

And he never gave a second thought to the door he’d left unlocked back at the library…

*******

Castiel looked blearily upon the scene laid before him. A patrol car was stationed outside the library’s front doors. Parked next to that was a news van. Complete with flashing lights, a fire engine idled near the news van. Gabriel’s message early that morning had been brief, urgent, and uninformative. Very much like and yet unlike Castiel’s night, which had been urgent, uninformative, and the polar opposite of brief.

He hadn’t had a wink of sleep. He’d searched for Dean all night long. He’d tried all the bars he could think of, and some he hadn’t (thank the gods for Google); the garage Dean worked at; the diner; everywhere in town, it had seemed! The garage had been closed by the time Castiel had thought to look there. Nobody had seen or heard from Dean that day, which had surprised and worried the cook, who hadn’t exactly been keen on giving up any information to Castiel specifically, but who had relented after seeing Castiel’s desperation and deeming it appropriate enough. Unfortunately, nobody at the diner knew where Dean lived, as he’d never invited them over and kept most of his home life very private.

 _His personnel file!_ Castiel’s heart lurched as he remembered that the home address had been part of the application Dean had filled out so many weeks ago. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought to check before!

He stumbled into a half jog toward the door. People were milling about the front of the building, yet none of them was going inside. Castiel passed through the throng with unease, not just because he didn't understand what was going on, but also because none of these people were Dean.

Gabriel intercepted him just as he entered the building. “Fucking finally. I thought you'd never get here. Didn't you understand from my voicemail to drag your ass here immediately? Why the hell didn't you answer your phone last night?” His cursing was exacerbated with stress. The fact that Castiel could see no candy on his person only added to the picture.

“I apologise. I was dealing with my own crisis, and as such I was using my cell for most of the night.”

As they walked, the need for emergency responders and reporters became apparent. Books were strewn everywhere, pages torn out of several. Smoke curled from two rubbish bins. Glancing about quickly, Castiel could see no other signs of fire damage, so it had been caught and contained early. If it had moved to even one bookshelf…

Gabriel laughed as Castiel took in the mess, but there was no mirth in the sound. “Well, it's all basically dealt with now. Jesus. Waking up to a phone call from the Board…”

“The Board of Directors called you?” Castiel was surprised that they'd been involved so early. But he supposed that perhaps they were the emergency contact in case of alarms being rung.

“First one called to ask who closed the building down last night, and I gave them Dean’s name.”

Castiel’s heart seized up, but Gabriel continued before he could speak up.

“Next thing I knew, another Director was calling me to say there'd been a break in and a fire here. So I rushed over. The firetruck and police were already here, thank god. But then I'd heard that there were no signs of forced entry, and that the Board had had Dean arrested from his home. Can you believe--hey, where are you going?”

Castiel was putting on the trench coat he’d taken off earlier as he’d entered the library, if only he could find the damn arm holes! “They’ve made a terrible mistake. I have to get to the police station. Do you know at which precinct they’re holding him?”

“Cassie, hey--stop!” Gabriel was nearly running to keep up with him. “Just wait a minute, okay? There are some details you might need to know.” He bent over, hands on his knees, when Castiel finally stopped just before the door, behind which a crowd was still gathered. “Man, have you got some long legs on you, or what?”

“Please get to the point, Gabriel. I need to find Dean.”

“All right, all right. Sheesh. I’m getting there, and then you can go find your ‘more profound bond’ or whatever.” Gabriel rolled his eyes, but Castiel knew it was in jest. “I’m not sure what you mean by the police or the Directors making a terrible mistake, but I do know that when Dean was arrested on charges of criminal mischief and negligence, he confessed. Cassie, he confessed to leaving the door unlocked so the vandals could get inside.”

Castiel’s face contorted into disbelief. No, he couldn’t--why would he have done that? “I don’t understand. I still have to get down there to right a wrong.”

“He won’t be there.”

Castiel paused, hand on the door. “What do you mean?”

“The police, they let him go a couple hours ago. I got the Directors to drop the charges because of his stellar work here. It was a simple mistake that anybody could’ve made--”

“Yes, I know, because _I was the one who made it!_ ” Castiel ground out through his teeth, fists clenched. How could they think that Dean would do this? Why would Dean confess?

“You--what? I thought--”

“It’s a long story; one that I don’t have time to get into right now. Did they let him go home? Is that where he went?”

“I’m not sure, Castiel. Since you’re rarin’ to get out of here, do you want me to talk to the Board for you? They dropped all charges only on the condition that Dean’s salary pay for any and all damages. Perhaps they’d make a similar deal--”

“Do what you must,” Castiel said as he strode quickly toward the offices. He needed to grab Dean’s file to figure out where the fool of a man lived.

“You know, I’m getting a bit tired of you cutting me--” Gabriel started to say as Castiel walked passed him again.

“Talk later, Gabriel,” he said, not giving the library a second thought.

The only thing on his mind was finding Dean before either of them could make a larger mess of all this.

*******

Castiel took a deep breath. This was it. He was finally at Dean’s house, hand poised to rap on the door. He was going to see Dean, and they’d be able to put this unfortunate situation behind them, and then they could (hopefully) walk through life together, hand in hand.

And so Castiel knocked on the door, and he tried to keep his fidgeting to a minimum as he waited anxiously for someone to answer. It swung open to reveal a young boy, eyes rimmed red and puffy, who could be none other than Sam Winchester. Castiel made to speak, but Sam reared back and the next thing he knew was bright white in his vision and red staining his hands.

Castiel found himself planted on his seat on the ground outside the Winchesters’ home, blood spurting from what had to be a broken nose. Sam Winchester was stepping out of the house, shaking his hand and snarling in pain, but he looked moments away from hitting Castiel again.

Castiel raised his hand, blood dripping from his fingertips, not purely out of defence for himself--because maybe he’d deserved that first punch at least, for not seeing how badly Dean perceived himself--but because he felt like he should explain exactly why Sam should be hitting him.

“Please, since you obviously know who I am, let me speak before you attack again,” he said, words muffled behind a throbbing, disjointed nose and the hand that covered it. He leant forward, squeezing his nostrils shut, and spat out some blood. “Oh, that is disgusting.”

“I know who you are,” Sam said, fire in his voice manifesting as contempt. “I don’t know why I should give you the time of day when you _ruined_ him. Who the hell do you think you are?”

Ruined? He ruined Dean? Castiel couldn’t begin to comprehend that, couldn’t bring himself to believe that something so good and pure as Dean Winchester could be ruined, and his thoughts quickly skidded away from it, as though ignoring the statement could disprove its existence.

“And now he’s _gone_ \--” Sam’s voice cracked into a sob at the last word, and Castiel was up in the blink of an eye, grabbing Sam’s shirt in his fists and giving him a violent shake.

“Gone? What do you mean, gone? You don’t mean--”

Sam’s eyes widened in surprise at Castiel’s sudden presence in his personal space, fear bleeding into them in the moments before righteous anger took back its place. He jerked himself out of Castiel’s grasp, pushing him away.

“He fucking _left_ , and it’s all your _fucking_ fault!”

The relief flooding through him nearly brought Castiel to his knees. Castiel had thought, by the way Sam was speaking--well, it was no matter. All hope was not lost. Castiel’s search would continue. And it would go on for as long as necessary until he found Dean, or (and Castiel truly hoped it would never come to this) until Dean himself told him he didn’t want to be found by Castiel.

“Before he--before, I was able to drag the whole story out of him, and he told me everything.” Sam obviously couldn’t bring himself to speak the truth of Dean’s absence again. Castiel didn’t blame him. He was mentally refusing to believe it himself as he listened to Dean’s younger brother tell his story. “He told me how he fell in love with a librarian, of all people. He told me about all the great things this guy was, and how much he meant to him, how good for him this guy was.”

It was true. It was all _true_. Castiel hadn’t been dreaming when Dean had said he loved him!

“Dean said you were the best thing to ever happen to him, even if you did treat him like shit. No, of course he never said it, but I was able to get the gist of your _relationship_ from what he did say.”

Sam’s fury was a sight to behold, and a small part of Castiel wondered what Dean would be like angry. He only hoped he'd be given the chance to one day see it.

“He told me about how he had taken you away from Thaddeus,” Sam continued, “and how he thought he'd nearly been the one to steal your true happiness with him. Dean never even considered how it should've been _you_ at fault for cheating like that. He only blamed himself, like he always does.”

Sam had been spitting anger up until the last moment. Now it seemed to drain out of him, leaving him hollow and listless, his shoulders slumping. “The police came in the middle of the night to arrest him. I had no idea what was going on. They said something had happened at the library, and that it was Dean’s fault. I _knew_ that couldn't be true; I _knew_ it, because all Dean did yesterday was lie in bed, staring at the wall. He wouldn't say anything, not to me, not to...Dad when he got angry… Nothing. He looked… _broken_.”

Castiel’s heart dropped at Sam’s words, the last just a whisper. It hurt to hear of Dean like that, even more considering it was him who'd done him so much harm. Sam’s anger came back to him, and the boy clenched his fists, rage burning in his eyes.

“They took him away, and Dad wouldn’t let me go see him. He came back hours later, and he was just empty. Like he had nothing left. So I made him talk. He told me everything about you; he told me about how he’d been replaced at Bobby’s garage--something I still can’t believe, and when I get to Bobby’s, I’m probably going to do the same thing I did to you; he told me how he confessed everything to you and said goodbye. And then…

“And then he said goodbye to me.” Sam deflated again and sagged all the way to the ground. “Dean said he was leaving. That everybody would be better off without him, that our lives would be better served without him in them. How could he think that? How could he--he was my _hero_ , Castiel.” His voice broke again, and he couldn’t contain a sob.

Castiel did the only thing he could think of, and he sat down next to Sam, putting his arm around his shoulder, trying to provide any sense of comfort.

“He did everything for me. Never did anything for himself. Always put me first. Can’t even say he put himself last, because he never considered himself at all. He was killing himself over three full-time jobs just to be able to provide for us. Dean was always there for me when I needed him… And now, when he needed me most, he just left.”

Sam had turned into Castiel’s half embrace. Now he beat his fists against Castiel’s chest, and Castiel just let him. Castiel knew Dean worked a lot, but… Was it really that much? Had he worked every night at the diner, every day at the library, and every weekend at the garage? Plus nearly every free moment was spent with Castiel… He had no idea when the man slept, because it had never been at Castiel’s, no matter how much he’d wanted Dean to stay.

“I know it’s selfish to say, but how could he leave me? I don’t think he’s coming back…”

Then Sam spelled out just what exactly had transpired after Dean had told him everything about Castiel. Dean had said he had a plan: he was going to move somewhere he could start fresh, get a few more jobs, somewhere nobody knew he was such a failure. He said he’d still send money to support Sam--that would never change, no matter what happened, Dean had said. He would always help Sam out as much as he could. He just figured that it would be better for everyone involved if it was somewhere else. John Winchester--their father, Castiel sussed out--had forced Dean to give him nearly all of Dean’s life’s savings to go along with the plan that Dean had laid out for Sam. The boy wasn’t to live with John anymore, since the man obviously couldn’t take of himself, much less another living being, no matter how much he loved Sam. Instead, he’d move to Bobby’s, who had offered time and again to take them in, forcing Dean to continuously come up with excuses that they couldn’t leave John behind.

It disgusted Castiel that John had been so willing to take everything from Dean and give Sam up so easily, but Sam didn’t seem too surprised, which only added to Castiel’s dislike of the man. Castiel squeezed his arm around Sam a little tighter. To think of everything these two young men had been through…

“Don’t worry, Sam. I will get Dean back to you, with me or not. I promise that, no matter what, I will get your brother back to you.”

Sam looked up at him through wide, tear-filled eyes, long brown locks framing his face. “You think he’ll come back?”

“I think he’s probably already eating himself up over leaving you, self-righteous intentions or no. I will make him see sense. I swear it.” 

*******

Dean gritted his teeth against the cold. His jacket wasn’t providing much protection against the wind that blew swiftly around the corners of the decrepit bus station. True, he could go back inside the small building, but there were other people waiting for different buses, and he thought he could feel all their eyes on him. Paranoia, he knew, that he had some brand on him that screamed _failure, deadbeat_ in neon, flashing lights. But he couldn’t shake the feeling.

He could curse the weather. Not the cold wind that whirled around his bench every so often, but instead the winter weather that had stopped his desired bus from reaching this station so he could board it and let it take him away from the place that didn’t want him around. Dean carefully avoided thinking of it like running away. Instead, he called it what it truly was: he was saving them all from himself. With him gone, he couldn’t screw up their lives anymore.

Well, perhaps it was better not to think on it at all.

Darkness was settling in around the bus station, and the shadows were growing longer. The lights around the road were fizzling into life, their hums filled the air with an eerie quality. Dean sighed and stood up, about to go inside and ask if there was any news on his bus, and if not, could he please exchange his ticket for a different bus, one that was here and ready to depart, thank you very much?

Dean’s ticket fluttered to the ground, loosed from slack fingers. There, stood bundled against the cold in his ridiculous trenchcoat that Dean so loved, was…

“Cas,” Dean whispered, the fog from his breath drifting behind him as he took a few tentative steps forward.

As he got closer, he noticed something was wrong. “Cas! You’re covered in blood! Are you alright?” Concern overcame his hesitation, and he strode quickly over to Cas, taking his face gently in his hands.

“Curse you, Dean Winchester. _Curse you_.”

Well, that definitely wasn’t what he’d expected to hear from him. But he supposed it was what he deserved. Maybe…

 _Oh_. Then it clicked, and everything made sense. Thaddeus had found out about Dean somehow, and he’d taken it out on Cas, not having Dean within reach to punish. He released Cas’ face and turned away.

“I’m sorry Thaddeus found out about me. Maybe I can explain it to him, and he’ll be willing to take you back? I’ll even let him hit me, if he needs to,” Dean said, drawing his arms around himself. “You can, too. For, ya know, making you two break up.”

Strong hands gripped his shoulders, forced him to turn around, and back into the plastic enclosure of the bus stop. Cas’ angry face came into view, a vicious, pained scowl scrawled on it.

 _Here it comes_ , Dean thought, mentally bracing himself for the blows.

“You great, bumbling fool!” Cas huffed, face a mere few hairsbreadth from Dean’s. “Do you really think so little of yourself? Your first thought upon seeing me is concern for _me_ , rather than for yourself?”

Well, that was also completely unexpected, and he had nothing to say to it, so Dean remained silent. It was apparently the wrong choice, if Cas’ deepening scowl was anything to go by.

“Dean, don’t you understand? I would never cheat with someone like you.”

Ouch. Dean flinched at Cas’ words. Okay, so he was going to pretend like all they’d done had never mattered, never happened? If that’s how he wanted to play it, Dean would go along with it, no matter how much it added to the wounds inside his heart.

“All right,” he whispered, closing his eyes against the tears the cold wind was causing to escape. Definitely the weather and not the torment in his soul. Definitely.

“No, that’s not--dammit!” Cas’ hands released him, and Dean sagged against the wall of the enclosure.

Dean heard some rustling, and he squared his shoulders, bracing himself again.

“Look,” Cas said, voice gentle, no trace of anger left in it. “Dean, please. Look at me.”

Against his better judgment, Dean opened his eyes to see Cas nod down at his hands. He was holding a small plastic frame, inside which was…

“You kept it?” Dean asked, awe bleeding into his voice as he took the frame into his hands. He examined the pressed petals of the flower that he’d given to Cas on that night so long ago. “I thought you’d tossed it away.”

“Never. I wanted to find a vase for it when you gave it to me, but then you were standing there, looking so perfect, that I forgot about it momentarily in my passion for you. Then I figured if I pressed it, I could keep it forever.” Cas’ eyes bore into his own. “What I said earlier came out wrong…

“I meant that if I had you in my life, I would never need anybody else. You’d be it for me.”

Dean couldn’t bear the weight of Cas’ gaze, couldn’t bear the weight of his words that couldn’t be true, and he looked back down at the flower again. “I don’t understand. But what about…?”

“Thaddeus is just my mentor for my doctoral dissertation. He and I are only academic colleagues, nothing more. This was all just a misunderstanding.”

Dean glanced up, surprised.

Cas gave a chuckle at Dean’s perplexed look. “You didn’t think I wanted to be a librarian forever, did you? I want to be a professor of English literature.”

Even loftier aspirations than Dean had even imagined. He had no place in such a life, no matter what Cas might think. But, gods, how he so _wanted_ to be a part of Cas’ life...

“And before you go thinking you have no place, banish those thoughts. I want you beside me, no matter where I am, no matter where you are in life. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re everything that’s good in this world. You’re worth so much more than you think, and you have so much to offer. I’d like to spend my life convincing you of that, if you’d let me. I’m in love with you, Dean Winchester.”

Before he could second guess himself, Dean lunged forward and slotted his mouth against Cas’, revelling in the feel of their lips sliding together, the heat of their bodies lined perfectly with the other. Arms wrapped around his waist, bringing him impossibly closer, as Cas deepened the kiss. Dean eventually had to pull back, and he searched Cas’ eyes, Cas’ _soul_ , for the signs he needed.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Dean found them.

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Come and say hi on [tumblr](http://www.codarra.tumblr.com)!


End file.
